


Impossible

by shinyforce



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Dubious Consent, End-game Lor'themar/Rommath, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Rommath, Slow Burn, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-29 16:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 68,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12088695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shinyforce/pseuds/shinyforce
Summary: In Quel'thalas, alphas rule the kingdom, omegas are forbidden from practising magic, and bloodlines are everything. Male omegas, unable to produce legitimate children, are treated worse than trash. When Rommath unexpectedly presents as one, he's forced to disguise himself as an alpha for his own sake and resolves to stay far, far away from love and intimacy.If only life could be that simple, and his will that iron.





	1. Part One: End of Innocence

**Author's Note:**

> Tags and pairings will be updated on a chapter by chapter basis. (Those following along on my tumblr may have an inkling of what those future pairings may be~) Standard omegaverse warnings of dubious consent and a deeply unfair caste system apply. If I've failed to tag anything, please let me know!
> 
> For Tyll, whose fault this all is.

Rommath's life ended when he was twelve years old. 

The abdominal cramps started first, malicious fingers twisting and squeezing his guts as though in punishment for something truly unholy. Curled up in the fetal position on his bed, cold sweat prickling on his burning skin, Rommath wondered if he was dying. When he felt slick wetness leaking from down below, wetting his underwear, he was certain of it.

 _Blood,_ he thought, hugging himself, stifling a hiccupy moan as his insides twisted again. He was going to die on his bed in the dark of night, alone and bleeding from nowhere anyone should bleed, leaving shame and shock for his family when they found his body the next morning.

Time passed in a haze of pain, the steady burning of the candle Rommath’s only evidence that he was still real. Somehow he hadn’t died yet, although the new cramps, even more vicious than the last, made him wish that he had. His gorge rose, and the adrenaline gave him a surge of strength: he forced himself to roll sideways off the bed and crawl along the carpet to his bathroom, where he vomited violently into the toilet, the cold porcelain on his skin at once relieving and revolting.

After a while Rommath stirred; emptying himself had reduced the pain to a level where he could think about moving again. Hauling himself up to rest against the sink, he dipped his head and drank straight from the tap in greedy, desperate gulps, the cool water the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. Splashing it on his face was divine. He was hot, so hot. Sweat ran down his back in a slow, disgusting roll. His hair was soaked, plastered unpleasantly to his scalp.

The mirror showed him a face that was flushed but not fading; eyes that were dark with pain and glassy with tears but still alert; lips that trembled but were still full of colour. Perhaps he wasn’t going to die just yet. 

But no, the bleeding. That was bad. That was very bad. His underwear was saturated, clinging unpleasantly to his body, warm and sticky. Better to remove it and maybe throw himself into a cool bath. His skin burned like the embers of a fire, low and smouldering and insistent.

It wasn’t blood. Rommath would have laughed if he’d been capable. _It wasn’t blood._ But his heady jubilation was short-lived: clear, musky, and almost sweet-smelling, there was only one other thing it could be.

Rommath’s insides twisted and he retched again, vomiting up the cold water he had just ingested. His throat burned and he groaned softly, overwhelmed and dizzy and deeply, deeply afraid.

He didn’t know how he managed to haul himself to his father’s library in the dark. Even though his parents were away managing their Tranquillien estate, his sister and some of his father’s servants were still in residence, and discovery would be disastrous. No candles, no magelight; Tyllanthus’s Whisper muffled the unsteady pad of his slippers on the parquet flooring.

Inside the library, he allowed himself the smallest of magelights, held in closely-cupped hands, by which to search out books. He knew the library intimately – it was his favourite place when his father wasn’t there – and it was only minutes before he was stumbling back to his room with a stack of handsome leather-bound tomes as high as his chin. The smell of old leather and parchment was comforting; the promise of knowledge slowed his trembling.

Rommath sat at his small desk and then leaped up for a towel like he’d been scalded, his abdomen protesting and his cheeks flushing in shame and misery. He’d cleaned himself up in the bathroom, but he was already leaking again, wet and uncomfortable. 

He forced himself to concentrate.

The first book, _Duskhallow’s Anatomy_ , confirmed his fears.

Rommath was an omega. A _male_ omega. Rare and spurned and scorned. Pitied. Reviled. A quiet sob escaped him; he brought a shaking hand to his mouth to stifle the rest. His father would disown him. Disown him, disinherit him, and cast him onto the streets after first beating him bloody in a cold, silent rage.

Bloodlines were everything in Quel’thalas. As a male omega, Rommath could never produce legitimate children. Everything downstairs _worked_ , but his seed would have no potency; no family would accept Rommath as a suitor for their daughters. No one would accept Rommath at all: it was widely acknowledged that male omegas, unable to obtain respectable mates, became wild, desperate creatures, driven solely by their heats and their need for sex from alphas who considered unclaimed omegas to be disposable, communal property.

The best future Rommath could hope for as a male omega would be to attach himself to an alpha noble, become his plaything. He would not be claimed, would not be respected – he had heard too many stories of male omegas being passed around at midnight gatherings to hope for such – but it was better by far than the other option. Rommath would _never_ become a prostitute, which is what typically befell those too unattractive or too poor to attract an alpha noble looking for some convenient fun until they married.

 _Until they married._ No spouse, whether omega or beta, would tolerate a pet omega as a rival for their husband’s affections. Could he really manage to jump from house to house for the rest of his life? Never loved, never secure, always afraid? Suddenly it became obvious why so many omega males ended up as prostitutes, whether on the streets or in brothels. Rommath didn’t know much about either, but he had heard the scorn, had overheard stories that made his stomach turn even though he didn’t quite understand everything he was hearing yet. 

_No wife. No children._ Rommath’s father would sire another son to continue the family line, and Rommath would be disposed of. The life he had imagined for himself – a good husband, a proud, loving father – would never come to be. He had vowed to be a man of kindness, not of fear, but he would have no wife to cherish, and the only way for him to have children of his own was to – 

He slammed the book shut, cringing. The cramps, the stabbing, the churning: his insides were adjusting, _changing_ , allowing his body to carry the children of anyone who could impregnate him. Alpha and beta males, and alpha females.

Rommath squeezed his eyes shut, his shoulders tensed. His deep pride in being the blood of the highborne was now his disgrace. As a result of the dark trolls being mutated by the Well of Eternity, both kal’dorei and quel’dorei had developed female alphas and male omegas; the other races of Azeroth had not. He was the shame of the high elves, an unnatural freak.

What was he going to _do_? He desperately wanted to run to his mother, to be wrapped in her arms, to be told that everything would be okay. But his mother was away in Tranquillien, and nothing would ever be okay again. If he told her, his father would find out, disown him, and likely cast his mother out too, claiming that Rommath could not be his son. Every male in his line had been born an alpha from the time their ancestors had crossed the sea from Kalimdor, and likely before. Rommath was the end of the line.

If he truly cared about lineage he would confess so that his father could sire new sons, better sons, but, proud as he was of his heritage, Rommath found that he cared about his own survival more. His cat, his best friend, his mother and sister: these were things to live for. And magic – magic most of all. His whole life had been dedicated to one day becoming a magister like his father and all his ancestors before him. Magic was in his blood. Magic was in his heart.

He would not become a prostitute. He was a _magister_.

He must _think_ like a magister.

_Impossible is only what we allow it to be._

The words of his grandfather had wisdom.

If omegas could not become magisters, then Rommath would become an alpha.

 

* * *

 

An hour and many hundreds of pages later, fingers ink-stained and eyes weary, Rommath held the beginnings of his new life in his hands. In his left, a potion that would suppress his heats. In his right, a pot of salve that would mask his omega scent. 

The heat suppressant had been easy, the recipe common and the ingredients plentiful. His sister required it until she was claimed and married in a few years’ time. Suppressants were essential for adolescent omega nobles – children born out of wedlock were scandalous in a society for whom bloodlines were everything, and omegas in heat were notoriously promiscuous, or so they said. It was also said that taking suppressants for a prolonged period of time was dangerous, but omegas were usually married as soon as they reached their majority, so the risk was minimal.

The risk for Rommath would not be minimal, but compared with being beaten, disowned and left to fend for himself on the streets, a nebulous ‘danger’ many years away was far preferable. All he could ask for was to survive for as long as possible.

Shakily, he drank the potion. It tasted bitter and he huffed a laugh, because of course it did. Nothing about this could possibly be sweet. The laugh, though, had been a mistake: he passed the next minute or so clutching at his abdomen, sore and stabbing. He hoped he had taken the potion in time – heat suppressants were only effective when taken a few hours before or after heat onset. Meticulously tracking dates and times would be the difference between life and destitution from now on. 

Rommath thanked the ancestors for his careful, diligent personality. For the rest of his life he would have to be perfect in all things. The slightest hint of suspicion could ruin him.

Consulting his anatomy book, Rommath applied the newly-mixed salve to each of his scent glands with the help of a mirror. As he had only just presented they were barely, barely visible, the palest purple deep under his skin – but he could feel them under his fingers, pleasurable to the touch and slightly oily since he was in heat. One gland either side of his neck in the hollows above his collar bones, the ones an alpha would bite and scar if they were to claim him as a mate. A trail down his spine, intended for his alpha to stroke and soothe. A larger one at the base of his spine for his alpha to stroke and arouse. Several on the insides of his thighs that made him whimper quietly as he applied the salve. More around his groin and between his legs that made him whimper loudly and flush with shame.

He didn’t want it to feel good, didn’t want to be fevered and sensitive and leaking slick like a fountain. He was supposed to be an _alpha_ , enjoying his penis, not his... not his behind. Alphas weren’t interested in that. They knotted omegas and the omegas were grateful for it. And he would act the same. Better to never think of sex at all, but if that was unavoidable – and at twelve he already knew it would be – then he would only pleasure himself properly, like a real alpha. There could be nothing omega about him at all, body or mind.

The single, single blessing of his having presented so early – twelve was not unheard of, but omegas tended to present between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, alphas between fifteen and eighteen – was that he had time now to formulate a salve that could make him smell like an alpha. Blocking scent was one thing – both alphas and omegas sometimes blocked their scents if they were in rut or heat and needed to avoid complications – but actively changing one’s scent was illegal. There were no official recipes, no official guides. Betas and omegas could not pretend to be alphas, no matter how much they desired to.

Rommath, though, knew that he could. Knew that he would.

_Impossible is only what we allow it to be._

If he could successfully suppress his heats every three months and keep his developing scent glands hidden, Rommath had at least three years in which to prepare the disguise he would be donning for the rest of his life. His mind was sharp, and desperation was a cruel but effective taskmaster. If he couldn’t develop the formula he needed, he didn’t deserve to be a magister anyway.

A rattle at the casement window. Rommath almost jumped out of his chair, heart thundering, threatening to sweat off his newly-applied salve before it had had time to soak in.

_Esteriel._

Not a parent, not a servant. His beautiful, treasured cat, seeking his company after a few hours of midnight hunting.

The light breeze as he opened the window was glorious on his overheated skin. He’d been too frightened to open himself to the outside while vulnerable, but his window looked out onto the pool and gardens, not the streets, and the room badly needed airing. The salve should be masking his pheromones now, but he had been in heat for over an hour, his body advertising his readiness for a mate. 

A cringe twisted his face. He felt disgusting. He was too young to be forced to think about mating, and too male to be forced to think about being mated _with_.

Esteriel hopped lightly onto his shoulder, her claws pricking at his skin through the thin robe he had thrown on to visit the library. She nuzzled her face against his neck, curious about his new scent. 

That was the moment Rommath finally started to cry. 

Hot tears dripped onto Esteriel’s pure white fur; even his cat knew he was different now. There was no longer any possibility of pretending this was a mistake, of pretending this was a bad dream. Reality was whiskers on his face and a little pink tongue licking at the salve on his neck.

In bed that night, Esteriel resting beside him on his pillow, Rommath swore two things to himself. Firstly, that he would never ever be a knot slut like the omegas his father and his friends laughed about and spat upon. And secondly, that he would never cry again.

On both counts, he would be wrong.


	2. Chapter 2

Rommath quickly learned that surviving meant sacrifice. 

His quietness, his introversion, became standoffishness when coupled with his new need to avoid intimate touch. Exertion, high emotion, and arousal all necessitated the fast re-application of his scent-blocking salve, which meant both excusing himself from social occasions with the flimsiest of pretexts, and doing all he could to avoid people touching him or getting close to him. He could already tell that his mother hurt more and more every time he wriggled out of or declined a hug, and oh, how he hurt too, when being embraced and stroked and soothed was all he longed for. But the newly-developed scent glands on his spine were sensitive and almost burned to the touch, flooding him with hormones that made him soft, made him sleepy, made his scent advertise how content he was. He had to stay away.

When he gave his mother flowers he had picked himself, she was so pitifully grateful that Rommath, unable to bear it, fled as soon as he was able.

His friendships suffered too.

“You never want to do anything with me anymore!” Astalor accused Rommath with rigid ears and balled fists as he demurred at yet another suggestion of swimming. “All you ever want to do is study on your own!” Normally thoughtful and soft spoken, Rommath had never heard Astalor so upset.

Rommath couldn’t prevent his ears from drooping. “I want to do lots of things with you,” he protested, though it sounded hollow even to him. Swimming, sailing, exploring the woods... he could do nothing that required him to remove clothes, get wet, or roam too far away from home. “We could... paint?” he suggested, desperately looking around for an activity to share. Although Stillwhisper Pond was the location of Antheol’s School of the Arcane (of which his father had very distinct Opinions), it was also a local beauty spot, dotted with swimmers and elves enjoying the scenery.

“Paint? And after that, should we work on our calligraphy? Our ballroom dancing? Why don’t you want to do anything _fun_? We’ve been in lessons all week!” Astalor hugged himself, glanced over at the other children laughing and playing in the pond.

“I just... don’t like swimming anymore,” Rommath said, feeling trapped, anxiety tearing at him under his skin. “It’s for children. We’ll be _thirteen_ soon. We should take our lessons more seriously.”

Astalor was unable to keep the hurt from his face. “You think I’m childish?”

“No! I... I just don’t want to waste time when I could be studying.” Rommath hated himself with every word. He loved to swim, loved to laugh and play with Astalor. ‘I’m an omega’, he wanted to tell him. ‘If I take my robe off everyone will see my spine. If I get wet everyone will smell me and know what I am.’ 

Temptation scrabbled in his brain. Astalor could keep a secret. He always had before. Inseparable almost from birth, they were practically brothers. Astalor wouldn’t tell. Astalor would understand, and then he wouldn’t make that face anymore, the one with betrayal welling in his eyes and hurt flicking in his ears.

“I won’t waste your time any longer, then,” Astalor said, his quiet tone a thousand times worse than if he’d yelled. He longingly glanced once more at the other children and then stalked off into the forest, not looking back. 

Rommath felt a coward for his relief at not being subjected to Astalor’s unhappy face one final time. He should run after him, he knew, should catch his arm and let his confessions spill forth until he was scoured of secrets. But his feet wouldn’t move. His lips wouldn’t move. Not even Astalor could know. The secret was too big, too heavy.

Flushed cheeks, trembling bottom lip; it was time to re-apply his salve. Strong emotions were dangerous. Strong emotions altered his body chemistry. He had to get a better hold on himself. Weakness could get him discovered.

For all he told himself this on the walk home, however, straightening his spine, squaring his shoulders, he crumpled once he shut the door of his bedroom, silent tears hot on his knees as he wept. Every relationship he had was falling apart and he could do nothing to stop it. He was weak, spineless, a coward. An alpha wouldn’t cry, an alpha would take charge, get what they wanted. He was messing everything up. Perhaps omegas really were as fragile and emotional and incompetent as alphas claimed. Rommath certainly couldn’t claim any different.

How could he stay close to his loved ones while keeping his secret hidden? It seemed impossible without some sort of explanation, but what explanation could he give? He’d already failed badly with Astalor, unwittingly calling him and all the activities they had enjoyed together childish. How could he possibly make a satisfactory apology without giving himself away? He couldn’t just agree to go swimming again, it would ruin him.

 _Being an omega ruins me_ , he thought bitterly, swiping at his eyes. Everything was crumbling because he’d been born a freak. Better if it had been evident at birth so that he wouldn’t have been raised with expectations... or so that he wouldn’t have been raised at all. Would his father have kept him? Extremely unlikely. Perhaps he wouldn’t be so miserable if he’d been thrown away or exposed.

But no, that was weak omega talk. Alphas didn’t entertain death or wallow in self-pity. They were men and women of action, of strength. Rommath would be strong too.

 

* * *

 

A week of solitude made Rommath painfully aware of just how much he had relied on Astalor’s friendship. A quiet, solemn child, Rommath had always been content to play with Astalor and fill the rest of his time with intellectual pursuits: reading, spellwork, experiments, puzzles. He had never wanted more – the chattering of other children irritated him, and they in turn thought him cold and strange. 

But now, without Astalor, everything felt hollow. There was no longer any adventure in his life, no longer anyone to report his successes and failures to, his invisible ink, his singed eyebrows.

So when Astalor knocked on his bedroom door, Rommath’s mother standing behind him trying not to smile, Rommath couldn’t keep the hope from his face.

“Do you want to play fethesi?” Astalor shuffled awkwardly, glancing at Rommath and then away again to the game board in his hands.

“Please,” Rommath said, recognising the board as one of his father’s. His mother had clearly been meddling, but he was grateful.

“I’ll bring you boys some lunch later.” A squeeze on each of their shoulders and then she was gone, skirts whisking down the hall.

Everything returned to normal after that – although it wouldn’t be normal for long.

 

* * *

 

Rommath had always imagined that he would be entering one of Silvermoon’s prestigious academies alongside Astalor when they turned thirteen, the age when the magically talented truly began their education in earnest. A few days after he had taken the entrance exams, however, his father received an important-looking visitor, and when Rommath was eventually called into his study the visitor informed him that due to his almost unprecedented test scores he would be accompanying the young Sunstrider prince to his private tutors instead of attending one of the academies. 

This was a great honour, he was told, and his father seemed so proud of him that Rommath just nodded solemnly when appropriate and bowed low to the magister – Belo’vir, he thought his name was – when he took his leave, even though Rommath wasn’t at all sure that he wanted to spend so much time so intimately with someone he didn’t know and couldn’t trust. As an academy student he had planned to keep socialisation to a minimum, to avoid connections that could expose his secret in countless unforeseen ways. He would have worked hard, kept his head down, and continued his quiet and dependable friendship with Astalor.

It would be impossible to decline, he knew, however much he feared it. Studying alongside prince Kael’thas Sunstrider was the greatest privilege he would ever receive, and his family would be honoured beyond measure. No education could be better, no other experience would provide him with better connections. Attempting to get out of it would only antagonise his father unnecessarily, for Rommath would end up studying alongside the prince no matter what he wanted.

Being impolite to Kael’thas was out of the question; instead, he would have to be so impossibly dull that the prince would lose all interest in befriending him. They _could_ not be friends: Rommath could not make himself vulnerable in that way. He would keep his head down, apply himself to his lessons, and be the most boring person Kael’thas Sunstrider had ever met.

As with all his hopes and dreams, however, it was not to be.

Kael’thas – ‘Kael’, he insisted – was dazzlingly blond, dizzyingly precocious, and desperately interested in the quiet, wary boy with the considering eyes and stiff posture who had saved him from the dismal prospect of one-on-one lessons with stuffy old men who wouldn’t know fun if they saw it in the dictionary.

“My father says you beat me in some of the written tests,” Kael said by way of introduction, eyes bright, lips quirked in challenge. “But not the practicals. Your attacks lacked flair, the examiners said.”

Rommath didn’t know what to make of this.

“I see you have the advantage of me.” Rommath had heard his father say this in the face of unexpected information. His own attempt at hauteur seemed to entirely pass Kael by, however.

“A magister should always know his rivals,” Kael said proudly.

“And I am your rival?”

“If you think you are up to the challenge.”

Rommath had never met a thirteen year old so sure of himself. It should have been deeply aggravating, but the prince’s eyes sparkled with an excitement that somehow lessened the insult.

Lessened, but did not negate.

Rommath had resolved to be dull, to be just as polite as was necessary when addressing royalty. As the proud blood of the highborne, however, the insult could not be borne. Was he not resourceful? Was he not brilliant? Was Kael’thas Sunstrider in a life-or-death race to formulate his own forbidden alpha scent? ‘Up to the challenge’ indeed!

So instead of being bland, instead of giving him nothing, Rommath told Kael that he would beat him at any challenge he saw fit to set – changing the course of his life forever.


	3. Chapter 3

“I’ve decided,” Kael announced, “that it’s past time you were living with me in the palace.” They were almost fifteen years old and had been inseparable since they had met, despite Rommath’s vow to keep him at arm’s length.

“My prince?” Excitement, fear, confusion, all masked by blandness.

Kael pulled a face. “You’re going to come and live with me! It’s boring without you, and you singe your robes whenever your father so much as looks at you. Don’t say you’d rather stay there when you could be staying up until midnight with me!”

“Surely your father...?” Rommath desperately wanted to say yes, desperately wanted to be free of his tense household and spend more time with his spirited, brilliant friend. But surely it was impossible? Kael would discover his secret on the very first night, would send him away in shock and disgust.

“Oh, he’ll give me whatever I want,” Kael said breezily. “He feels guilty that there’s no one my age in the palace.” 

Kael was being flippant, but Rommath knew that he was lonely. The king’s advisors were all far too old to have children who would be Kael’s peers, and Anasterian had never imagined that he would survive his heirs; Kael had been conceived in urgency and sorrow and his mother – Anasterian’s fourth wife – had died of heart failure during childbirth. With no siblings, no mother, and a distant, grieving father, Kael had been a lonely child and one who opened his heart to anyone and everyone he called friend.

“Am I to share your room?” Rommath asked, unable to keep the apprehension from his voice.

Kael laughed, threw an arm around Rommath’s shoulder. “Of course not, you idiot! I know how weird you are about privacy. And besides,” he said slyly, “you’d only put off all the girls I’ll be bringing home.”

Rommath huffed in relief. “You mean you’re afraid of the competition.”

“Clearly, with all the girls you’ve been kissing.” 

They both knew that Rommath had not been kissing any girls.

“I’ve kissed as many as you.”

“Nooooooot true!” Kael said, voice a sing-song by Rommath’s ear. “And if you promise to come live with me I’ll tell you all about it.”

How had Rommath come to this point, having a friend who liked him so much that he insisted on sharing a living space? Who liked him so much that he wanted to talk about girls with him, who touched him so casually? Rommath had tried to shake Kael off, had been brusque and cold and sarcastic – how had they become so close? And how had he become so comfortable with it? 

Kael’thas Sunstrider was a force of nature, and Rommath had somehow survived the firestorm.

Kael had forced him to manage his reactions to being touched, had forced him to cope with hugs and pats and arms slung round his shoulders just like this one. Kael was too easy with his affections to understand that Rommath might not have wanted them, and even if Rommath had felt able to risk objecting he would not have wanted to spurn his bright, golden prince. Kael was not used to being told ‘no’, and somehow that felt like a trait to be protected, not disdained. Kael believed that the world was rich and splendid and full of promise; Rommath, who knew differently, did not want to puncture his happiness.

This is how he found himself agreeing, how he found himself demanding to hear the tale of Kael’s conquest – in reality a mild fumbling – when really, talk of girls and kissing made him feel unlovely and alone.

The suite he moved into the following week was sumptuous, as expected. A large sitting and receiving room was the focal point, furnished with plush chairs, divans, and low, elegant tables, with sweeping landscapes of Quel’thalas decorating the walls. To either side of the sitting room were bedrooms, generously-appointed, each possessing a private bathroom. Rommath’s fears were mostly assuaged; no one would be accidentally walking in on him, and he was sure he could train Kael to knock. 

Time went on and he was happy, really and truly happy. He was required to visit his family home once a week for dinner, but otherwise he was free of the strained atmosphere and the constant anxiety of discipline and discovery. Anasterian parented Kael indulgently and Rommath not at all. He was largely treated as a young adult, though he was certain that this would change if he became less studious and more wild. The king, Rommath thought, was expecting him to be a good influence on his son, and Rommath would not let him down.

They played together, studied together, giggled together. Kael shared all his secrets, and Rommath pretended to do the same. He fabricated crushes, repurposed gossip. Such frippery would once have been unthinkable, but he craved Kael’s excitement, Kael’s friendship. Their intimacy was precious to him. 

And truly, he wasn’t _hiding_ any crushes. In fact, Rommath hadn’t really felt any romantic or sexual feelings for anyone at all. He had vague, anonymous wet dreams that dissipated on waking, and he had once caught an alpha scent in the street so alluring he’d had to rush home to reapply his blockers, but it was all just uncomfortable biology. And it was easier this way, with no one to long for. He hoped he would stay like this forever, but the likelihood was that when their peers began presenting as alphas he would fall for one and pine from afar, a lonely omega cursed to never have a mate of his own.

But for now, this moment, living together with Kael, Rommath was happy. Astalor visited often, and although it was clear that he and Kael would never be best friends, they got on well enough to enjoy games and meals and unsanctioned magic duels. Rommath initially fretted over the zeal Astalor displayed when duelling the prince, but Kael seemed to relish it. Rommath chalked his nerves down to his role as the ‘responsible one’, eager to keep Anasterian pleased. Perhaps this meant Astalor, too, would present as an alpha? They liked to fight, he knew, to jostle for social status.

Even in a glorious palace, in a glorious city, in a glorious kingdom, they were all just animals in fancy clothing, with animal instincts and animal desires. Rommath felt deeply uncomfortable at the thought, even as he did his very best to tamp his down.

 

* * *

 

Rommath perfected his alpha pheromone salve when he was fifteen. Almost entirely confident of his success he returned home to visit his sister, who wrinkled her nose and told him he reeked of newly-presented alpha. “Go and tell father, and then for light’s sake wash yourself!”

He sat in his old bedroom for a while, gathering his thoughts and galvanising his courage before meeting with his father. Could it really be that he had succeeded in his grand deception? For nearly three years he had been preparing for this moment, experimenting with scent and working around the limitations of his omega body. Omegas were naturally shorter and slighter than either alphas or betas, and Rommath had worked himself to the bone to compensate. Weight lifting, running, sunshine, seafood, greens, milk, and ten hours of sleep a night on top of all his studies and duties.

And it had _worked_. He wasn’t as tall as Kael, but no one was as tall as Kael. He hadn’t yet presented, but it was clear that the Sunstrider prince would be an alpha just like his father. And perhaps others thought the same of Rommath – he was strong and tall with arms that even Kael admired. His sister hadn’t been at all surprised by his alpha scent, and Astalor bemoaned the likelihood of his being a beta to Rommath with the assumption that Rommath would present as an alpha any day now.

The one remaining test was his father. Who, as it turned out, smiled at him, clapped him on the shoulder, and advised him on how to have safe sex with omegas who were in heat. Mostly the advice consisted of ‘don’t’, but his father acknowledged that omegas tended to be promiscuous and excelled at drawing alphas into their beds. Rommath should try hard to avoid fathering any bastards, but he would not be the first in the family to do so if he did.

It was almost – almost – as though they were bonding. Rommath supposed he would have felt warm and pleased if he weren’t secretly one of those slutty omegas his father had disparaged. He smiled and laughed and nodded in the appropriate places, and feigned enthusiasm for the ball that would be held in his honour. He would hate it, he knew, surrounded by people, scrutinised as a newly-presented alpha noble, flirted with by lovely omegas who would suddenly see him as an eligible prospect. But there were many things in his life that he had hated, and he would see this one through too.

On the way back to Sunstrider Spire, Rommath strode with a new purpose to his step. The birds sang more sweetly, the sun shone more brightly. He was a new alpha about town, and the world would welcome him so long as he kept his deception up. He looked like an alpha, smelled like an alpha, would _be_ an alpha as much as he was able, for as long as he was able.

He snorted ruefully as he thought of his father warning him against fathering bastards. Thank the ancestors there would be no genital examinations as part of his presentation celebrations. 


	4. Chapter 4

They were seventeen when Rommath first realised he felt more than friendship for Kael.

He had been reading after lunch in the shared living room of their suite, trying and failing to concentrate as he waited for Kael to return from his meeting with King Anasterian. Magister Belo’vir had promised to show them both a new abjuration spell afterwards, and although Rommath enjoyed theory books far more than Kael, the promise of practical magic had had him near fidgeting.

When Kael had flounced in and flung himself onto the divan opposite Rommath’s, however, all thoughts of lessons had left him.

“Bad news?” he asked, placing his book beside him, turning all his attention to his prince.

Kael groaned, huffing up at the ceiling. “My father wants me to establish a harem.”

Rommath blinked. “And that is objectionable because...?”

Kael looked at Rommath as though he were slow. “It’s dull, Rommath! It’s stuffy! My _father_ has one, for Sunwell’s sake! Can you imagine anything worse than resigning yourself to sleeping with the same few omegas for the rest of your life?”

Rommath could think of many, many worse things than that, but he schooled his face to blandness. “I presume the King wishes to avoid the issue of royal bastards?”

Kael pulled a face. “Ugh! I know to avoid omegas in heat, and they should be locking themselves up at that time anyway.”

“And are they?” Rommath hoped Kael was too absorbed in his complaining to notice his ears had twitched in perturbation. 

“Well, no,” Kael admitted, his own ears pinkening at the tips. “One was waiting for me in my bed last night. One of my chambermaids.”

“So that’s why she was quite so loud. I wondered whether your technique might have improved.” Rommath picked his book back up for something to do with his hands. He dropped it again when Kael froze his eyebrows solid.

“As if you’d know anything about pleasing a woman,” Kael scoffed, lips twitching in mirth as Rommath dusted ice crystals off his face with attempted dignity.

“I know quite enough, thank you.” Which was perfectly true. Rommath would never have opportunity to take a lady to bed; practical knowledge was of no use to him. “At least one of us must aim for discretion.” He hated how peeved he sounded. _I must leave this subject._ “You are aware that your lovely chambermaid likely wanted exactly that: a Sunstrider bastard?”

“You sound just like my father,” Kael grumbled. “The head of housekeeping heard her gossiping and went straight to report to him.”

“How embarrassing, to have one’s conquests spread among the staff with no possible way to avoid it.”

“Must you always be like this?”

“Apparently I must, since you have no sense of decorum, my prince.”

“I have plenty!” Kael protested. “I just... _Light_ , Rommath, an omega in heat... I’ve never smelled anything like it. So sweet, so...” He shivered in reminiscence. “She smelled like she needed me, like she’d suffer without me. How am I supposed to resist that?”

“With great fortitude and strength of character,” Rommath said, willing himself not to flush and largely failing. Would _he_ smell like that to Kael if he allowed himself to go into heat? Would he suffer if he could smell Kael but not have him? Since Kael had presented as an alpha, Rommath had forced himself, with varying levels of success, to habituate himself to Kael’s natural scent, in much the same way as one who dwelled in a house full of dogs quickly lost their ability to tell that it reeked. But when Kael was excited, when Kael was _aroused_ , Rommath’s stomach turned over and his ears burned and he had to make excuses to flee immediately, lest his own reaction overpower the scent blockers he applied three times daily.

Thankfully Kael was not often aroused in his presence, but parties and midnight gatherings were dangerous territory as pretty omega girls not-so-casually touched his prince, as Kael pulled them into his lap, laughing. So far Kael had taken Rommath’s swift exits as envy, as petulence for the lack of attention _he_ was receiving, which was all to the good except that he was starting to suggest that he play Rommath’s wingman and find him a lovely omega for himself. Rommath had so far managed to deflect this threat, and he hoped that Kael would eventually drop it. Nobody found Rommath attractive, and that was perfectly fine by him.

It wasn’t that he was _un_ attractive – though he would easily admit that he paled next to Kael’s luminescent beauty – but the scent blockers made his body chemistry smell ‘off’, and his anxiety over being found out made him unapproachable. To alphas he smelled like one of them; to omegas he smelled subconsciously strange; and to betas his aloofness and alpha bearing suggested that they would be wasting their time. He dropped hints from time to time about ‘encounters’ he’d had, just so Kael wouldn’t think him completely abnormal – an alpha noble with no interest in sex would be incredibly suspicious, and even self-absorbed Kael would pick up on it – but he had never been kissed, never been touched, and he had long ago resigned himself to this reality.

And yet...

“What was it like?” he found himself blurting out, his ears flushed a deep, deep red. “Being with an omega in heat?” It was reckless to ask, dangerous and pointless, but he burned with adolescent curiosity.

“I knew you’d want to know.” Kael looked almost fey as he smirked. “It was... it was... imagine an omega that would _die_ without your cock. She’s hotter than you’ve ever had, wetter than you’ve ever had. Begging and pleading and desperate. Like you’re the best lover she’s ever known.” Kael’s ears were as red as Rommath’s. “She came _so_ many times, Rommath, it was incredible.”

“So incredible that your father wants you to have a harem,” Rommath said, voice unexpectedly throaty. He felt far too warm. His mouth was thick with saliva. Would _he_ beg and plead and climax over and over again if an alpha fucked him while he was in heat – if Kael fucked him while he was in heat? He bit his lip, closed his eyes. The image was intrusive and impossible to expel, but expel it he must – Kael could not be allowed to smell his budding arousal.

“Yes, that.” Kael groaned. “It’s so unromantic! I want the thrill of the chase, a different girl every night if I choose. And I want them to choose _me_! Not sit around all day waiting for me to summon them. I want a girl with a life! I want mystery! Adventure!”

“And how did your father take this?” Rommath flexed and held his thigh muscles to force his blood elsewhere, made himself picture King Anasterian, lined, stern, and two thousand eight hundred years old.

“He was unhappy, but he knows he cannot force me. He lectured me about sleeping with omegas in heat and how contraceptives work... but it’s their responsibility anyway, not mine.” Kael rolled his eyes. “Apparently all the omega household staff have been assigned elsewhere so that I won’t be ambushed again.” He bounced up from the divan, clearly bored with the conversation. “Let’s go and see old Belo’vir – _he_ knows how to have fun.”

As they prepared to leave, Rommath asked, making his voice as casual as possible: “What happened to the chambermaid?”

“Oh, she was sacked,” Kael said as he straightened his robes. “The head of housekeeping forced moon tea on her and immediately sent her away. I’m lucky that she heard the gossip in time, really. If that silly girl had managed to keep her mouth shut for eight trifling hours she could have had a very different life.”

 

* * *

 

That night, Rommath dreamed.

His heart jittered and fluttered. It was his first night as Prince Kael’s concubine, and as he checked himself one last time in the mirror he felt bare and vulnerable. The only clothing he wore was a pair of red and gold silk slippers and floaty, diaphanous trousers that rode scandalously low on his hips. The translucent fabric purposefully drew attention to his groin, brazenly visible – everything below the neck had been waxed. His hair was loose, falling to the small of his back, dressed with jewels and silver filigree. His ears were adorned with gems and chains, some of the piercings new and tender. His eyes were rimmed with kohl, eyelids brushed with shimmering gold, staring back at him, a sultry stranger.

Would Kael find him attractive like this? 

On the bed, immense and opulent, the strength of Kael’s passion left him in no doubt. Kael pinned him to the pillows with his strong alpha body, tongue fucking his mouth, cock huge against his own. Rommath had never been kissed before, had never been touched like this. Overwhelmed, all he could manage was to grind his hips up against Kael’s, needy little sounds escaping from his throat like song.

His trousers were wet with slick, wet with his arousal. The delicate cloth would be ruined, but that clearly did not matter – Kael ripped the trousers off Rommath’s body with a growl, the fabric tearing like tissue paper.

“Is this for me?” he teased, voice husky as he grasped Rommath’s erection and thumbed at the head, making him writhe and gasp. “Such a good concubine.” His other hand glided between Rommath’s legs; he hummed with pleasure at what he found. “I should have taken a male omega for my harem an age ago. How lush you are!”

Rommath shivered under his touch, under his praise. He was supposed to be tending to his prince, but Kael seemed more than happy to be doing all the work, Rommath’s body a pleasing toy.

“I live to serve you, my prince,” he managed breathlessly, rubbing his slick asshole against Kael’s clever fingers.

“Shall I make you my consort? Would you like that?” Kael trailed his thumb along Rommath’s damp lower lip. “Parade you around in those little trousers, take you right there on the throne?”

Rommath gave a small moan, allowed Kael’s thumb into his mouth to suckle on.

“Prince Kael’thas and his little omega slut, doesn’t that sound good? Everyone will see how needy you are, how much you want me.” He smirked. “You’ve always wanted me, haven’t you? I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve heard you call my name when you fuck yourself. You tried to hide, but now you’re mine... and you love it, don’t you? I bet you can’t wait to spread your legs and take my knot.”

Helpless, Rommath found himself parting his legs as though under a spell. How good it felt, to bare himself completely for his prince! Kael laughed, pleased, and slid his thumb out of Rommath’s mouth with a moist pop, leaving both his hands free to spread Rommath’s cheeks, to toy with his asshole and watch as it twitched for him, desperate for a cock.

“You’ve never been touched before, have you?” Kael slipped a couple of fingers into him, chuckled as Rommath canted his hips up, needy and whimpering. As long as they were adequately aroused, male omegas did not need the preparation that any other lover would – Rommath’s ass was relaxed and welcoming and eager, the fingers not nearly enough. “Beautiful. And the only one who will ever have you is me. The jewel of my harem, so wanton, even as a virgin. Are you afraid?” The fingers withdrew; Kael’s cock rubbed teasingly against his entrance.

“Only of disappointing you, my prince.” Rommath’s voice was broken, husky. It hadn’t crossed his mind to be afraid – he was aching and ready, almost trembling with love and lust and anticipation.

“Impossible,” Kael murmured indulgently. He pushed Rommath’s thighs up to his chest, let them fall around his waist, intimate and vulnerable. “Nothing is quite so sweet as making a virgin scream in ecstasy.”

Rommath’s breath hitched as Kael’s cock pressed against his warm, wet asshole, almost, _almost_ penetrating him. A needy whine escaped from his throat and Kael chuckled, looked down at him fondly.

“Does it feel good to finally accept what you are?”

Rommath nodded, closed his eyes, bit his lip. An omega: that’s what he was. Needy. Slutty. Made for pleasing and obeying his alpha. His Kael. His prince. His _master_.

“Now that you’re mine, I’ll give you all the come you need. If you’re a good little omega you’ll never be empty again.”

Rommath sucked in a shaky breath, looked pleadingly up into Kael’s glittering blue eyes. He wanted – _needed_ – to be filled with Kael’s come, to have it all shot inside him, so much come that he would be leaking for days, shameful and disgusting.

“You blush so beautifully. Are you ready to have that kohl run?” 

As he spoke, Kael thrust his hips, sliding sliding sliding until he was fully hilted inside him, huge and hot. 

Rommath was moaning, gasping, and as he awoke he was climaxing, spurting his own seed into his underwear, his ass impossibly slick and rhythmically contracting as though Kael were still inside him, still fucking him. He was painfully empty, clenching on nothing, but even without a cock he was crying out like Kael had promised. Muscles deep, deep inside him were fluttering, pulsing, a warm, spreading pleasure so intense it was almost an ache. It was exquisite, agonising, utterly soul-wringing, and when it finally subsided Rommath rolled over, pressed his face to the pillows and sobbed, repulsed and angry.

He had known that orgasms involving his ass would be better than playing with his cock. He had avoided them for exactly this reason. The thought of experiencing pleasure as an omega made him feel sick, made him feel viciously alien in his own skin. He didn’t want omega cravings, didn’t want to be penetrated, didn’t want to be submissive and slutty like he’d always feared he’d be.

Where had this repulsive dream come from? The answer was obvious, but Rommath couldn’t accept it. They had spoken of harems earlier that day, and Rommath had coloured at the thought of Kael fucking him while he was in heat, but he didn’t _want_ it.

So why was he still trembling, images of Kael looking down at him in wonder heating his cheeks?

_“Does it feel good to finally accept what you are?”_

Disgusting. Rommath would never lie beneath another man. Rommath would never accept his omega status. Acceptance was the first step towards disaster – to survive, there was no room for omega weakness. Tomorrow he would scour this anomaly from his mind and continue to be strong. He had sacrificed too much to falter now.

When he awoke again in the early morning, however, the terrible tension and excitement was still there, searing his brain like an uncontrollable fireball. Memories of the exquisite pleasure made him flush all over, and his fresh underwear was soaked once again with slick. He felt giddy, almost, at the thrill of last night’s new sensations. The world felt more colourful, more vibrant. 

Almost as though he’d had sex with Kael for real.

Rommath groaned and locked his jaw in frustration. It had been a _dream_. It had no bearing on the real world whatsoever. The words ‘crush’ and ‘love’ skirted the edges of his consciousness and fled, skittering back into the dark, when they sensed his anger and displeasure. It had meant _nothing_.

Seeing Kael that morning made him dizzy, though. He was sure he would vomit up the sweet pastries and fruit they were sharing, and even Kael noticed something was wrong. Rommath declined the offer of a doctor and retired to his room, bidding Kael apologise to their tutors on his behalf. Kael wanted to help nurse him – no doubt to avoid lessons himself – but the threat of imminent vomit thankfully chased him away. Rommath couldn’t imagine how he would have coped with a solicitous Kael at his bedside, a tender hand on his forehead, a kind voice offering him succor.

Feeling like a fraud, he divested himself of his robes – he _was_ too hot, that much was true at least. Flushed and perspiring, stomach churning, suffering not from illness but from frustration, disgust, despair.

From excitement.

Sitting across from Kael had stirred him, the dream making him aware of things he had previously failed to notice. Kael’s lips, not full but still sensual, curling with laughter and delight at a joke he had made, pouting at the absence of his favourite pastry. Kael’s forearms, stronger and more defined than he remembered. Kael’s scent, so masculine and confident. Kael was suddenly on the very cusp of manhood and it had taken his dream to make him notice.

_“I bet you can’t wait to spread your legs and take my knot.”_

Try as he might, Rommath could not exorcise Kael’s voice from his mind. Smooth, purring, indulgent, amused, Rommath’s nerves and arousal a playground for his ego. Even awake, it thrilled him. Dream Kael had been mature, confident, experienced. His ears burned and his cock throbbed, so hard it was almost painful.

He made a valiant effort to ignore the need thrumming through his loins. A cold shower, reading at his desk, penning a letter to his father. All, however, failed. Despite the frightened retreat of his genitals in the face of ice-cold water, being nude and touching his body kept him thinking of Kael, and when he towelled himself off his erection returned to life like Al’ar from the ashes. Trying to read dry magical theory while most of his blood was pooled in his groin turned out to be impossible, and while attempting to write to his much-feared father even the smooth flow of ink on paper seemed deeply erotic.

Conceding defeat, Rommath double-checked his wards and the lock on the door, snapped closed the curtains of the elegant, towering windows, and shed his clothes once more. Almost trembling he lay down on the bed and wrapped a tentative hand around his cock, making a soft little sound at how good it felt to be finally touching himself. 

He tried to concentrate solely on the physical sensations and keep his mind perfectly blank, but thoughts of Kael crept in anyway, as he’d known they would, and he quickly gave up on fighting them. Every moment of pleasure was heightened when thinking about his dream, his stomach tight and warm, his cock jolting in his hand.

Even letting himself fantasise wasn’t enough, though. Wet and leaking slick, his ass ached and throbbed inside, the emptiness near unbearable. It was impossible not to remember the ecstasy he had felt as he’d awoken that morning, pulsing and contracting deep inside, his orgasm full-bodied and devastating.

With one hand still on his cock, Rommath squeezed his eyes shut and trailed a finger over his balls, shivering a little as it slid over his perineum, so close to the centre of his unwanted need. Tentatively he slid the finger further, down between his cheeks. Hot, wet, slippery, his body drew his finger right to his entrance and he bit his lip, sucking in a shaky breath. His asshole was _so_ warm, _so_ soft, and as he began to rub gently it twitched, eager for attention. As he rubbed it more it began to relax for him, began to open up; his finger slipped inside almost of its own accord and he whimpered, hating himself for enjoying it, hating the delicious feel of even something small stretching him.

The hatred did not stop him from adding another finger, however, or another, or from sliding them in and out again and again until his whole body was flushed and heaving. He’d forgotten the hand on his cock; the pleasure of stroking his prostate was too good, too distracting. Even just the feel of something moving inside him was incredible. As a male omega his ass was gorgeously sensitive inside when aroused, the smooth muscles throbbing with blood and nerves. Movement against his walls felt heavenly.

_“You’ve never been touched before, have you?”_

Imagining they were Kael’s fingers he rocked his hips in time with his hand, leaking slick and pre-come over the sheets, over his belly. Kael would be so pleased, his ego stroked by Rommath’s arousal and evident need for him. Kael would kiss him, devour him, fuck his mouth with his tongue while he fucked him with his fingers. He would laugh indulgently as Rommath squirmed beneath him, begging for his cock. Thick, immense, it would stretch him, make him cry and sweat and moan.

Fingers weren’t enough. They were good, to be sure, but in his fevered state he wanted something more, something he could squeeze around, something that could go where his fingers could not.

Rommath had never seen a dildo, but he was certainly familiar with the concept. He glanced wildly around the room, searching for anything that would be suitable. Candlestick? Horribly ill-conceived. Candle? Fragile. Hairbrush handle...? Promising.

After wiping his hands off on a towel he approached his dressing table, ass cheeks sliding against each other with slick. Normally it would have disgusted him, but today the sensation felt erotic, deliciously dirty. The hairbrush was elegant, silver with a phoenix motif, a gift from Kael when he had first moved in, along with a matching mirror and comb set. It was expertly crafted, the handle perfectly smooth, flattish but with rounded edges that would be safe for play.

Back on the bed he spread his legs and touched himself again, his three fingers slipping inside just as easily as they had before. He had nothing suitable with which to cover the hairbrush handle, but the anatomy books he had read claimed that male omegas were... clean when they were aroused, as well as easily penetrated. Slick was easily washed away with soap and water; he would take the risk.

Slightly cool, the handle slid inside as though it had been made for him. Pushing it further and further he bit his lip until the body of the hairbrush was resting against his ass cheeks. It was deep inside him, perhaps five inches, and he groaned softly as he squeezed around it and felt it resist him, his sensitive little pucker adopting its shape. A real alpha cock would be hot and pulsing and velvety, much thicker and longer than the handle, but right now it was beautiful, it was bliss.

Slowly, slowly, he pulled it out almost all the way, and then pushed it back, faster this time, a soft little sound escaping his throat as it grazed his prostate. In and out, in and out, each time faster, each time rougher. He let his head fall back onto the pillows, let his body relax – he’d been afraid that it would hurt, that he might damage himself, but the harder he pushed the better it felt. His legs fell open even wider, rocking against the thrust of the handle, shoving up with his feet for leverage, the mattress bouncing beneath him.

Imagining it was Kael was easy now, natural. Each thud of the brush against his ass was Kael’s hips, each brush against his sweet spot the head of Kael’s cock, red and swollen. Kael would be enjoying him, taking pleasure in his body, eyes intense and shining as he watched his pliant omega friend gasp and moan, watched his face twisting, ears curling. Nothing could be sweeter for Rommath than pleasing his prince, than building towards an orgasm given by his beautiful cock.

In, out.

In, out.

Each ‘in’ a sharp inhale.

Each ‘out’ a shudder.

In, out – in, out. Faster and faster and faster, the smack of the brush on skin echoing in his ears, the slick, wet sound of the handle inside him burning his face. Their sex would sound like this, his and Kael’s, Kael’s hip bones sharp and Rommath’s ass slippery with desperate arousal. He hadn’t known his body could sound like this, so lewd and visceral, each stroke of Kael’s cock loud and messy, Rommath’s body welcoming him, pleasuring him so that he would give Rommath his seed – 

A strangled cry. Rommath’s own come spurting over his chest and belly. His ass clenching and contracting around the brush handle, the resistance delicious, delectable. Riding the waves of orgasm he imagined Kael was coming inside him, filling him with semen, making him wetter and messier still.

When it was over his hand fell away, leaving the brush handle to rest inside him. For a while his eyelids were too heavy to open, his body too heavy to move. Every muscle he possessed had clenched during his climax, from his curled toes to the aching base of his ears. He wanted to remain there, perfectly still, perfectly unthinking, until he felt capable of processing what he’d done, but he was forced to grab for the brush as it began to slide slowly out of his ass. He stared at it, glistening with slick but otherwise clean, and knew that he could never go back. For better or worse – definitely worse – he was an omega, with an omega’s needs.

And for better or worse – _definitely_ worse – Kael’thas Sunstrider set him aflame.

 

* * *

 

Rommath pleasured himself another six times with the hairbrush that day, trying to chase the exquisite orgasm induced by his dream. It was always elusive, just out of reach, and by the time he accepted defeat he was exhausted: wrung-out and sticky and sore, though he was sure that he would have been a great deal more sore were he not an omega with an ass made for fucking.

The hairbrush handle was clearly not enough. He needed something bigger, something more like a real alpha cock. Buying a toy was out of the question, for if it was discovered, he would be too. No alpha would own such a thing, especially not one so young and rarely seen in the company of anyone but the prince. And if not a toy, then what? He could not risk hurting himself with something unsuitable – even a perfunctory examination would ruin him.

The only elegant option would be crafting a phallus with magic. There must be books of sex magic in the palace. He gave a small laugh: there must be books of sex magic _everywhere_ , considering it was the national pastime of Quel’thalas. He would obtain them and learn how to make something truly glorious – the feel of soft skin, the girth and length he craved, the knot that was likely the key to his ultimate pleasure.

 

* * *

 

The following night, Rommath, Kael, and Astalor went on an adventure. Kael had obtained the key to the king’s private library, and since it had been his suggestion Rommath hadn’t berated him for stealing. The lectures never worked anyway: Kael and, it seemed, the world at large were in agreement that whatever the prince wanted, the prince could have. And even cautious, rules-stickler Rommath could rarely begrudge him it.

The stolen key and the signature of Kael’s Sunstrider-dynasty magic had given them quick and easy access – the king apparently considered the two paired together adequate security, and Rommath had briefly wondered whether he quietly condoned Kael’s visit. If he was old enough to be curious and successfully lift the key, perhaps he was old enough to read some of the tomes contained within. Rommath fervently hoped so. His need was too urgent to turn back, but he was not at all thrilled by the prospect of being punished for stealing books of sex magic.

“Quiet!” Rommath hissed, whirling around to scowl at Kael who was giggling to himself in a manner that sounded almost unhinged. “Nothing can possibly be that funny. We can’t be caught in here!”

Kael evidently disagreed: tears began to stream down his face as he turned another page of the book he was holding, and his giggles slid into rhythmic gasps as he fought for breath.

“Astalor,” he choked out, glancing over at him, “are you aware of how your family made their fortune?”

Sharing a perturbed look with Rommath, Astalor sighed and walked over to Kael. “I’d assumed the same way as any other magically gifted family, but I expect you’re going to correct me.”

“Look!” Kael held the book up for Astalor, still giggling uncontrollably. “It’s a dragon! And instead of come it shoots –”

“Give me that!” Astalor snatched the book away and began skimming over the pages, eyes wild and glinting.

Despite his better nature, Rommath found himself drawn to the book and the excitement, unable to stop himself from huffing a laugh as he peered over Astalor’s shoulder.

“Unburning fire,” he said, voice tinged with admiration at the elegance of the spell.

“For when a normal cock is just too dull.” Kael was still gasping for air, and even Astalor was starting to laugh. “Fill me with your giant dragon dick and roast me, darling!”

“Anerious Sunsworn,” Rommath read. Impatiently he reached under Astalor’s arms and turned the page. “Again.” Another page. “And again.”

“They’re all his,” Kael said, clapping Astalor on the shoulder. “‘Sunsworn’s Sexual Oddities’, first published five thousand years ago and still in print today. Must be a timeless demand, dragon dicks.”

“And cocks for omegas,” Rommath added, reading off the page and immediately wishing he hadn’t.

“Pfft, as though an omega would ever want to fuck someone,” Kael scoffed. “What an absurd idea! All they care about is being knotted.”

“I’m sure some couples like to experiment,” Astalor said, glaring sideways at Kael. “Not everything’s about knots.”

“Said the beta.” Kael smirked. “If you’re hoping to woo an omega you’re wasting your time, you know. Tell him, Rommath.”

The bottom dropped out of Rommath’s stomach, and by the time he realised Kael was asking for his opinion as an _alpha_ Astalor had already started to speak.

“Don’t bring Rommath into this, he’s not an idiot knothead like you.”

Kael bristled at the insult, but Astalor didn’t allow him to interrupt.

“Even if I _were_ looking to woo an omega – which I’m not, not that it’s any of your business – love is what matters, not sex. Alphas and omegas fall in love with betas every day.”

Kael laughed. “Yes, I suppose that is an easier truth to swallow.”

Astalor handed the book to Rommath, his eyes not leaving Kael. “You’re such an arrogant prick sometimes.”

Betas didn’t produce pheromones like alphas and omegas, but Rommath could almost taste Astalor’s anger. And he could _definitely_ smell the challenge beginning to roll off Kael, sharp and hot, readying for a fight.

“Stop this, both of you,” Rommath hissed. “I will not be caught here because of a senseless argument! Kael, you’re being an ass; Astalor, you’re deliberately provoking him. Gather your books – we’re leaving.”

Rommath looked so fierce that neither Astalor nor Kael uttered a single word; they merely glared at each other and then stalked – and flounced – to opposite ends of the library.

Flustered, Rommath patted his pocket to check the book of magical sex toys was still where he’d secreted it, and then absently grabbed a few decoy books that an alpha might be interested in. His attention was all on Astalor and Kael, monitoring the tense atmosphere with darting eyes and deep breaths through his nose.

Kael was starting to calm down – his temper was quick to rise and equally quick to fall – but Astalor’s jaw was clenched and his eyebrows were set in a pointed frown that Rommath knew meant fury was smouldering. It hadn’t just been a posturing scrap for Astalor – was Kael right? Did Astalor have feelings for an omega?

Shepherding them out of the library, Rommath placed a decisive hand on Astalor’s shoulder. “Kael, you go back to our suite, I’ll see Astalor out.”

Kael gave him an inscrutable look but did as he was told; Rommath hoped he would go straight to bed and be in a better mood in the morning.

Rommath and Astalor walked in silence until they emerged into the Court of the Sun, gently lit by golden street lamps. Rommath guided them to a bench overlooking the fountains and they sat, the gentle burble of the water soothing and peaceful.

“Don’t mind Kael,” Rommath said, staring at the soft lights reflecting off the water. “He’s a good friend to me, but he can be spoiled and arrogant. It comes with the territory of being a prince and an alpha, I suppose.”

Astalor grunted quietly in acquiescence.

“I wonder though – _is_ there an omega you’d like to pursue? I would – I would help you, if there is.”

Astalor was silent for a while. Together they listened to the lapping of the fountain waters. Eventually Astalor said, “No, there is no omega. He’s right though, isn’t he? Alphas and omegas? They only want each other.” Rarely had Rommath heard him sound so bitter.

“I...” Rommath struggled for a response. _He_ only wanted an alpha, it was true. Every one of his fantasies was centred around being stretched and knotted by a giant alpha cock. But male omegas were notorious knot sluts; perhaps the ladies were different? “There is a definite magnetism, but I hear love is capricious. It strikes where it will.”

Astalor sighed, looked up at the stars. “I suppose it does.”

They sat quietly together for a while, awkward but companionable, until Astalor pushed up off the bench and announced that he was heading home. Rommath watched him disappear into the dark, unease heavy in his stomach. He had known Astalor all his life; never had he seen him so melancholy.

 _Are we really all just at the mercy of our biology?_

The thought was disquieting, and Rommath slept fitfully that night.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a very brief mention of the rape of an unnamed character.

When he was eighteen, Rommath tried to recall why he had ever disavowed becoming a prostitute. Face pressed into the pillows, fist clutching his cock, ass raised high, he moaned wetly as the conjured phallus slid in and out of him by magic, a second-rate facsimile of pleasure. 

The hunger inside him, the itching, clawing desire, was never sated. He needed skin. Needed heat. Needed a rock hard cock to stretch every inch of him and slam him into the mattress like a rag doll. Everyone around him talked of sex, smelled of sex. Across from their shared living room Kael was _having_ sex, loudly, wildly. Jealous and resentful, Rommath burned in the dark, pillows wet with saliva.

No wonder so many male omegas became prostitutes. Cock, endless cock. Making a living on his back, on his hands and knees, sounded like heaven. Clearly of noble stock, he would be treated well if he submitted himself to an upscale brothel. He would have a room of his own, sumptuously furnished with silks and satins and velvets, and an attendant to prepare and bathe him between customers... unless they didn’t want him bathed. Perhaps they would want to smell the last man who had had him. Perhaps they would want to fuck the come out of him, pull his hair, call him a whore.

His voice broke as he moaned into the pillows, cheeks damp with spit. If he really became a whore the phallus thrusting in and out of his ass would be an actual cock, hot and thick and veiny with a silky foreskin and a knot that would make him scream. He would do whatever was asked of him as long as he could come like he had while waking from _that_ dream about Kael. Nothing he had tried since had come close to replicating it. He needed the chemistry of an alpha, the knot of an alpha. And right now, desperately tugging at his cock, he would do anything to have it. He would spread his legs for strangers, suck their cocks with a thirst, beg them to call him a whore, a knot slut, milk their come with his ass and breathlessly thank them for the privilege.

Heat week at a brothel – alphas would pay obscene amounts of gold to fuck a male omega in heat, wild and desperate and deliriously horny. Rommath felt that way _now_ and he had never fully experienced a heat. How delicious would it be to spend a week existing only for sex, existing only for cocks and knots and an ass dripping with semen? Flushed and sensitive all over, unable to keep his legs together, submitting and presenting to every alpha who paid for him. He would cry out so beautifully for them, roll his hips and throw his head back, tempting them with the bare expanse of his neck, unmarred and unclaimed. Claiming bites were one of the few brothel taboos – no high class customer would _dare_ – but he would feel wanton and powerful in his provocation.

Perhaps the brothel would allow the truly rich to buy away his contraceptives, allow them the chance to knock him up, to fuck him full of pups, to then return month after month to enjoy his swelling belly and his humiliated arousal. Every customer would leer at him, would fondle his roundness as they fucked him on his hands and knees, belly too large to manage on his back. He would burn with shame and he would revel in it, flaunt his degradation – 

His long moan was muffled by his pillow as he came, hot come flooding over his hand, his ass rhythmically contracting around the phallus that was still sliding in and out of him. The continued stimulation made him sob, his whole body tensing and then releasing suddenly in a spasm that left him flat on the bed, heaving and breathless. He lay there trembling until he regained his faculties enough to command the toy to stop, and then he lay there some more, face buried in the pillow, ass still twitching, unwilling to address the disgust that was curdling in his mind, congealing in his gut.

The faint squeals of delight floating from Kael’s room like bad bloodthistle smoke made it impossible to ignore, however. Angry, jealous, ashamed, he peeled himself off the bed and lurched to his ensuite bathroom, feeling the need to scour himself clean, to scald himself until the repellent, shameful fantasies were burned away entirely, never to return.

He glared resentfully at the stranger in the mirror, just barely illuminated by moonlight, sweaty and dishevelled and depraved. Where had these fantasies sprung from? He was proud, he was noble, an alpha in mind if not in body. He was no whore, no vessel for other men’s seed. He was celibate and well-satisfied with it.

He huffed; even the face in the mirror didn’t believe his lie.

To survive with his sanity intact, he would have to become a master of self-deception.

 _I do not want to be a whore. I do_ not _want to be pregnant._ These declarations were easy, these declarations were true. Not every fantasy was rooted in reality. In fact, the reality made him queasy, and not just from shame. The thought of something growing inside of him–! He shivered.

 _I don’t want sex. I don’t want Kael._ These were not easy, these were not true. He yearned for Kael, ached for Kael. Golden and glorious, fey and magnificent, he was a mythic beauty, a dazzling paragon. Rommath wanted him with every fibre of his being. He longed for Kael’s friendly cuddles to become heavier, longed for Kael to look at him the way he looked at the pretty omegas at court, the ones who made him wait, the ones who were not easily lured into his bed. Rommath was not like them, though. He was not pretty. He was not temperate. If Kael invited him to bed he would follow, trembling, and allow his prince anything.

Would Kael want to take Rommath to bed if he knew his secret? Could an unrelated, unsupervised alpha and omega live together in such close quarters without spending the whole time fucking? Rommath’s cheeks coloured as he imagined Kael taking him on one of the living room divans while they were trying and failing to study, the tension too heavy, too sultry for anything but kisses, cuddles, caresses.

No, he could not reveal himself to Kael. He was nearly certain Kael would think it a magnificent deception and wish to help him, but that in itself was a problem. The prince was too naive, too used to everything going his way. He would expect the same treatment for Rommath, but Rommath was not the sole heir of the Sunstrider dynasty. No one would indulge him but Kael, and Kael’s protection would not be enough to save him if anyone else were to discover he was an omega – which they inevitably would, since Kael was almost entirely lacking in guile. It was why he shone as bright as the sun, why Rommath loved him so. Kael could not play in the shadows. And Rommath would take every last one upon himself to keep his friend safe.

If Rommath couldn’t tell Kael, couldn’t have Kael, then there was only one option: he must stop indulging his urges. No more fantasies, no more toys, no more touching himself. He was sure he would go mad if he kept allowing his mind to wander alongside his hand. Even now he felt a twinge of arousal as an image of himself pregnant and on all fours flashed through his mind. He was undisciplined, a disgrace.

From now on he would be scrupulously diligent. Silencing spells when Kael had a guest. Vigorous walks when he felt compelled to touch himself. Study, meditation, cold showers. A perfectly blank mind when Kael slung an arm around him, when Kael hugged him. He would master himself, conquer his weak omega body.

Nothing was impossible if he wanted it enough.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, what he really, truly wanted, however, was cock.

After suffering almost-nightly wet dreams for a fortnight, awakening sticky and sweating and ashamed, images of Kael seared onto the backs of his eyelids, Rommath broke. Unable to sleep, cock throbbing darkly between his legs, underwear soaked through with slick, he surged from his bed and paced, back and forth, back and forth, until anger and desperation and desire outfitted him in dark, heavy clothing and placed a glamour potion in his shaky hands. 

Swallowing it in one long draught, his body shimmered with faint violet light and then he was shorter, heavier, hair short and blond, eyes blue and wide, freckles dusted over his rounder cheeks and several notches missing from his left ear. A stranger’s face looked back at him in the mirror, reckless and impulsive, and then he was opening the window, scrambling over the sill and controlling his fall from the third floor, landing like a cat in the gardens. Kael had shown him this way out, how to leave the palace without alerting the guards, and he soon found himself hurrying from the Court of the Sun onto the main thoroughfare of Augur Row, dark cloak wrapped around himself like armour, ears twitching and alert.

At first glance, Augur Row looked just like any other district of Silvermoon. Magically swept streets, fine buildings. A ginger cat trotted across the road and disappeared into an alley. The street lights were dimmer, however, and the buildings seemed to loom towards each other as though the disinfecting light of the moon were poison. This place was not proud; it skulked, it goaded. _Go on,_ it urged, _no one will see you here._

And although he was nervous, although his heart was thundering in his ears, Rommath was glad of the dark. Even disguised, he wanted no eyes upon him. He was here for sex and only sex, in search of a glory hole to which he could present his ass and be completely, anonymously fucked. No pleasantries, no faces, no talking at all – just moans and grunts and a fat knot in his ass. It wasn’t what he truly wanted – he wanted cuddles, he wanted kisses, he wanted _Kael_ – but it was the only choice open to him.

He jumped – an omega had peeled away from the wall and was leering at him, pushing out her chest, breasts barely contained in the smallest shirt Rommath had ever seen. He outwardly gaped and her leer intensified.

“First time on the Row, darling? I can show you a good time...”

She beckoned him with a hooked finger, blew him a kiss, and he hurried away, head down, cheeks burning. She called after him, but Rommath did not look back – the fewer people he interacted with the better. No one could realise he was an omega, no one could realise he was under the effects of a glamour potion. 

The harlot had assumed he was a beta, he thought, still hurrying. This was good. He had applied his scent blockers – he did _not_ want to be wandering Augur Row as an omega – but not his alpha scent. Alphas would only be attracted to him in the glory hole if he smelled like an omega, which would happen swiftly if he touched himself for a few minutes. Arousal always broke through his blockers far too soon, and right now he was thrumming with it, the pad in his underwear already slick and his cock half-hard even through his fear. 

So intent on fleeing the harlot, Rommath had wandered further into the Row than he had planned. He must find somewhere, he knew, before he began to smell like an omega out in the streets. Somewhere advertising peep shows. There would be holes between some of the booths, subtly marked for alphas and omegas. He would pay for the show, thoroughly arouse himself, and then press his flushed, wet hole to the wall and wait for a cock. If he wanted, he could keep paying, keep fucking, until he was a sore, exhausted mess, unable to move and dripping with semen.

 _‘The Shaded Lantern: Erotic Massages, Lap Dances, Peep Shows’._ In the shape of a lantern, the sign was freshly-painted and the building seemed in good repair. This was as good as he was going to get, and he had to get off the streets. 

He hurried, head down, still hugging his cloak, but as he passed in front of the alley next door he was arrested by the sound of jeering and laughing and the smack, smack, smack of flesh on flesh. Glancing out from under his hood, Rommath’s skin prickled and his cock immediately softened. A group of rough-looking alphas was gathered around an unresponsive omega lying on a crate, naked and heavily pregnant, being violently fucked by an alpha who was slurring insults and epithets. Even from the mouth of the alley Rommath could tell that the omega was barely conscious, had likely been plied with enough drugs to make him catatonic and pliant.

Staggering away before they could notice him, Rommath slumped his weight against a wall and tried to control his breathing, his pulse throbbing in his brain, his chest, his whole body. What was he thinking? What was he _thinking_? Coming to Augur Row, intending to submit himself to the mercy of a glory hole? Male omegas were filth, trash. No one would let him just stroll out of the bawdy house when he was finished: alphas would be waiting for him, would drag him away to a dirty alley, enslave him. He would disappear forever – for who would miss a male omega? If his father knew his omega son had been kidnapped he would likely laugh and let him rot; if Kael raised a search Anasterian would force him to drop it once it was revealed that his companion was an omega who had deceived his way into the palace.

He didn’t know how he managed to return to Sunstrider Spire unmolested. Fear had broken through his blockers and he smelled strongly of distressed omega, his body announcing that he was in need of comfort or assistance from an alpha.

What a joke it was, that alphas were supposed to protect omegas! The omega in the alley hadn’t been protected. Rommath would not be protected if his secret was ever discovered. Even female omegas were protected only in so far as they were property to be kept safe. There were love matches, of course, and truly kind alphas, but their existence did not preclude the rigged system that lauded alphas and reduced omegas to emotional, flighty creatures unsuited for anything but childbearing and domestic servitude.

Rommath was an omega and he was one of the magisterium’s rising stars. How many omegas had been denied their dreams merely because of their birth? The thought was horrifying, and yet... and yet he envied them, in a sick, twisted way that filled him with shame. Their dreams had been denied, but they had love, companionship, an outlet for the dark longing of their lust.

What a mess he was! How pitiful! Would he throw away a promising career as a magister purely for love, purely for sex? As a male omega there was no choice, of course, but the question troubled him regardless. Choosing love over magic would surely prove that he wasn’t strong enough to become a magister... but alphas had no such choice to make. A mate, a family, a career, respect – that was their birthright for being physically stronger, for having knots at the base of their cocks. 

Did that sound absurd merely because he was envious? He was, after all, supposed to have been an alpha himself. As far as everyone around him was concerned, he _was_ an alpha. So what was the difference, really? Kael showed far more emotion than Rommath, was far more mercurial, and so were many of the other alphas he was acquainted with. The only weakness he possessed, as far as he could see, was his insatiable desire for sex and companionship, which would be much less of a damn problem if he were free to find partners like everyone else. 

Punching his pillow was supremely unsatisfying, a woeful metaphor for his whole existence. He had sworn never to cry again, but he was forever breaking promises to himself these days, trapped in the dark with only his perverse fantasies, born of desperation and deprivation. Why were only _his_ needs taboo, distasteful, an object of ridicule? He just wanted to touch and be touched, that was all.

Such a small desire. A sad desire. A desire nearly every other elf took for granted, but impossible, now, for Rommath to ever have fulfilled. The omega in the alley had shown him that amongst jeers and lurid shadows, his future laid bare before him if he should ever falter in his deception. 

No one would ever love him. No one ever _could_ love him without compromising his secrecy. No kisses, no caresses. No trysts. No anonymous sex. Not even paying at a brothel could help him – no amount of coin could secure his safety.

His eyes stung with salt, with rage, with a despair that threatened to swallow him. Until this point part of him had hoped that he could find _some_ form of companionship somehow, his power and resources increasing year by year as he grew. But there wasn’t a way. Every path was blocked if he wanted to keep practicing magic, and only one tolerable path was open if he didn’t... but submitting himself to a powerful alpha noble as a plaything would always have an expiry date, and there would be no love, no esteem there.

No, he must remain a free man. Without dignity, without respect, he would wither, would lose his entire sense of self. And without magic, without Kael, he would lose everything he loved. What was deprivation, truly, if it meant he could continue to bask in Kael’s sunshine? The prince would never feel the same about him, but Kael _did_ love him. Rommath was his boon companion, his truest friend. Not for millennia had a young Sunstrider prince shared his living quarters. Kael was not shy in proclaiming his feelings, feelings which Rommath probably did not deserve but was sorely grateful for regardless.

Rommath’s body loosened, sagged against the mattress as resolution took hold. The only way forward from now on was to follow Kael. Wherever he went, whatever he did, Rommath would be at his side, would do anything to keep him safe. Kael’s love was a bigger gift than any physical gratification could ever be. He would train, even harder than before, would become a mage so strong that all enemies would tremble before him. 

His hormonal troubles would pass, or at least weaken. At eighteen years old he was surely at the worst of it. A few more years, a decade at most, and he would be calmer, less frantic. He only had to survive until then.

Moderation, he knew now, would be the key. Abstinence had not worked, had led him brainlessly to Augur Row and danger. Indulgence had left him feeling lonely and dirty, unable to think about anything but fantasies that could never be fulfilled. He must walk the middle path, careful never to stray. It was too dangerous to own specialist omega toys – nothing, he knew, was ever truly private in Sunstrider Spire – but he could work on making his conjured toys more satisfying, really push himself to simulate skin and pulse and heat, to magic a safe knot that would make him scream. His body would not conquer him.

A quiet knock on the door startled him, adrenaline he thought he had calmed returning in force.

“Rommath?” Kael’s voice was quiet but clear, pitched for nighttime enquiries. “Is everything okay?”

Rommath sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, breathed in deeply. How did Kael know he was upset? His tears had been soft, as always, soaking into the pillow before they had ever had chance to run down his face. But his deep breath gave him the answer, the pungent scent of his unhappiness and fear strong in his mouth, his nose. His scent blockers had worn off long before he had returned, and the depth of his feelings had had his body crying out for comfort and reassurance. He had warded his door to keep scents from leaking through, but pheromones were powerful. Perhaps Kael could subliminally feel Rommath’s unhappiness even if he didn’t outwardly recognise the distress call.

“Just a bad dream,” Rommath called, trying to sound groggy and full of sleep, his heart pounding. “Go back to bed.”

If Kael entered, it was all over. Not a trace of Rommath’s alpha scent remained, and he stank of frightened, unhappy omega. To his chagrin part of him thrilled at the danger, dared him to invite Kael in. Whatever happened after that would be out of his hands – he would no longer have to shoulder this burden alone. Kael would cuddle him, comfort him...

“Okay,” Kael said through the door, reluctant, hesitant. “If you need company, I’ll be across the hall.”

Rommath didn’t let himself relax until he heard the soft click of Kael’s bedroom door. The prince was tactile and curious and endlessly sociable, but Rommath had ultimately managed to convince him of his desire for privacy after many conversations and reinforcements over the years they had known each other.

 _Coward_ , he rebuked himself, pushing up off the bed and heading to the bathroom to cleanse himself of his fear scent. Mere moments after resolving to be stoic, a traitorous part of him had been hoping that Kael would discover his secret! Pitiful, utterly pitiful. 

_I must be stronger._

And he would be. From this moment onwards he would be a towering force of strength. The face in the mirror looked back at him, jaw set in determination, eyes glowing faintly blue in the dark.

He sighed; it wasn’t his face. He had yet to deactivate his glamour potion. A murmured word and the unfamiliar features melted away, that self dissolving for good. No more sleepwalking into Augur Row, no more pining for a life he could never have.

Rommath would support and protect his prince no matter the cost. This was his life’s purpose.

_My life for Kael’thas Sunstrider._

 

* * *

 

The next day, Rommath discreetly paid some men to look for the omega he had seen in the alley and take him to one of the church’s omega refuges. There was no sign of him, they reported, however, and no amount of coin could persuade them to return at night to confront a gang of alphas in Augur Row.

When they had gone, Rommath almost broke his hand punching the wall. 


	6. Chapter 6

Six months later, Rommath’s mother died. A wasting sickness that neither priests nor healers could conquer. Kael and Astalor flanked him at the funeral, a silent agreement between them to shield him from his father, whose grief would likely manifest as anger. There was no need, however: he was haunted, distant, and when it was his turn to address the gathering he faltered at the lectern, choked out a few words, and then returned to his seat, glowering and lost.

Rommath barely remembered his own speech, barely remembered anything at all. Kael was squeezing him, a fierce hug of support, and then he was alone in his room, sitting on the side of his bed, staring blankly at the door. He hadn’t wanted Kael to go, but his mask was slipping; he was too close to tears, too close to giving off the scent of omega unhappiness, omega grief. Affection from an alpha was exactly what he needed, but he knew he must put that out of his mind. It had been enough to have Kael and Astalor beside him at the funeral.

‘ _View this only when you are alone_ ’ exhorted the note that had accompanied the vision crystal in its velvet-lined box, currently a dread weight in the pocket of his heavy formal robes. One last message from his mother, recorded before her death. Did he have the emotional fortitude to watch such a thing right now? But what else was he suited to do for the rest of the day, if not wallow and sob?

Steeping tea, a strong Thalassian leaf, Rommath prepared himself. He washed his face, reapplied his scent blockers and alpha scent, and changed into lighter, more comfortable robes. He drew the curtains, locked his door, cast a silencing spell around the six walls of the room. Finally, he settled at his desk, took a deep breath, and pricked his finger with a dagger, sucking air through his teeth as he cut more deeply than he had intended, shaky with nerves.

The vision crystal chimed and glowed with a soft white light as he touched his blood to it. A perfect image of Rommath’s mother’s face appeared above it, wan and drained but with eyes still full of life and love. A message of goodbye recorded for him from her sickbed.

“My son,” she began. “ _Rommath_.”

She loved him, she said. She would always love him. She was proud, so proud, of his talent and his kind nature. Rommath did not often feel kind, but his nose stung with the beginning of fresh tears. She recounted her favourite stories of his childhood, the wonder on his face as he had conjured his first magelight, the solemn dignity with which he had presented her a beautiful lynx for her birthday, hand carved and painted. She still had it amongst her treasures; she wanted him to have it once her effects were divided.

And then her countenance changed, sliding into grief and resolve. “My son, my brave, beautiful boy. I should have told you that I knew, that you could always come to me to talk... but I was waiting for you to come to me yourself. I didn’t want to overwhelm or frighten you. And your father, he – well, you know how he would be.” She drew a shaky breath. “If he’d learned...!” 

Was she talking about–?!

“I should have come to you, I _wanted_ to come to you... but one day you presented as an _alpha_ and you were so happy, your father was so happy, and I knew then that you would survive. You are so brave, so resourceful. And I’m sorry, so sorry. I should have been brave myself...”

Rommath’s face crumpled. His mother had known that he was an omega, and she had loved him regardless. 

She was telling him now to stick with the prince, that being his companion would likely keep him safe, was telling him that while Astalor didn’t know his secret he _did_ know that Rommath was carrying a great burden and would be a sympathetic confidante if Rommath ever felt able to share. 

Astalor’s appearance after their argument so long ago, holding the family fethesi board, Rommath’s mother smiling behind him... she hadn’t just been a meddling mother, she had saved his life. _She had known_.

The message continued: she had left large sums of money for him in both Silvermoon and Dalaran. If the worst should happen he could get away, protect himself. Love would likely be hard to find, but he should never stop believing that he deserved it. He should never let alphas take advantage of him, should learn the recipe for moon tea – Stilling Elixir – by heart just in case.

By the time it was over, Rommath’s face was wet and hot with tears. He was a wellspring – no, a _volcano_ – of grief and anger and misery. Why hadn’t she come to him? _Why hadn’t she come to him?!_ He’d been so lonely, so afraid. He could have had years of comfort and acceptance. Better she had gone to her grave never having told him!

Ashamed of such an unworthy thought, he wiped at his face and tried to calm himself. Would things really have been better if he’d been able to speak about his secret? Nothing in his father’s house was ever truly private; he would have known that _something_ was amiss, that Rommath had been deliberately hiding something from him. Going it alone, depending only on himself, there had been nothing suspicious about either of their behaviours. They had both known that being thrown out of the house was the very best Rommath could have hoped for if he had been discovered. His father was traditional, old blood. There was no room for perversion in his household.

 _She was frightened too,_ he realised, staring at the crystal, now lifeless and dull once more. She had been afraid, had had no roadmap for dealing with an unexpected omega son. One mistake and she could have alienated him from her; one mistake and she could have brought his father’s wrath down on the both of them. Rommath was almost the spitting image of his father but he would have been labelled a bastard regardless, his mother disgraced and thrown out just like him.

Perhaps that would have been better. They could have lived together, lived a simple life free of fear. But no, it would not have worked out like that, however he wished it. Life was not kind to disgraced omegas.

_“I should have been brave myself...”_

“You were perfect,” Rommath whispered, nose once more burning with tears. He was still angry, but not at her. He had never been able to stay angry at his mother for long. 

_Astalor knows something is wrong with me._

Could he really tell him? Reveal to his oldest friend that he was an omega, that he was illegally masquerading as an alpha, something Astalor lamented not being? Astalor cared for him like a brother, had accepted Rommath when his behaviour had changed and he had hurt him... but knowing Rommath was breaking the law would be a heavy burden. And while he trusted Astalor with his life, could he really expect his friend to help him keep all of the privileges he had staked out for himself that Astalor himself had been denied? Resentment was corrosive, insidious, and Rommath would not blame Astalor if he were to succumb to it.

No, he could not tell him. Rommath could not test their friendship so, could not gamble his life for the chance of physical affection and unsatisfying sex, assuming that Astalor would even desire that. Rommath would forever be pining for an alpha, and Astalor... Rommath didn’t even know what Astalor desired, but it wouldn’t be a male omega who could never be happy with his beta cock.

A familiar part of him whispered that even just cuddling would feel good, but he had been down this road with Kael and he was wise to it now, less easily tempted. No good came of wishes.

He was becoming an adult, he realised, fear and hope and pride warring in his gut. He was accepting the limitations of his life, accepting the fact that his mother had been fallible and vulnerable just like every other elf. She had tried, and he was trying. He was growing every year, would be nineteen soon, and he was avoiding temptation in a way that would have been unthinkable even six months ago. Augur Row had nearly had him once, he thought with burning ears, but it would never feel his footsteps again.

His footsteps belonged to the future now, onwards to friendship and magic and learning. For the first time he truly believed that it would be enough after all.


	7. Chapter 7

Life continued. Rommath and Kael learned magic together, became adults together, broke hearts together. Neither wanted to get married – for very different reasons – and both severely vexed their fathers and the multitude of young women who sought more than just dalliances. They developed contrasting reputations: Rommath as a cold, arrogant lord with unreasonably high standards, and Kael as a rake with almost no standards at all so long as they were beautiful enough or he was drunk enough, and he was very often drunk enough.

Rommath despaired, and after meeting what seemed like the thousandth omega to enter their rooms, he decided it was time he established his own household, even if said household was a tiny apartment with just him and an increasing number of cats. His hormones had settled down, but his love for Kael had not. The only thing more painful than the never-ending parade of lovers would have been if the prince had had only one and loved her.

“I’m far too young to be tied down,” Kael had said, and Rommath had not dissuaded him; for as long as Kael was a swinging bachelor, Rommath could legitimately claim to his father that being the Sunstrider prince’s boon companion was more important to their house than his marriage prospects. The charade that was his life would likely end when his father eventually forced his hand, but for the time being Kael was unwittingly protecting him, as he always did.

There had been another reason for moving out of Kael’s quarters, so shameful that Rommath had tried – and failed – to excise it from memory. Sometimes, when returning from parties, Kael’s clothes had carried traces of the mystery alpha Rommath had once swooned over in the street in his first blush of youth, the one whose pheromones were so potent he’d broken through his blockers and rushed home. It had happened too often and yet not often enough; it had taken all his self-restraint not to sniff Kael’s clothing and ask which alphas he might have touched. Each time he’d inhaled it he’d had to flee: his heart pounded, his stomach turned over, his cock threatened to tent his robes. Furiously masturbating had been the only remedy, but afterwards he’d always felt ashamed, humiliated. How could a stranger’s scent have such control over him? 

When Rommath found himself about to sneak away one of Kael’s party robes before the servants took it for laundering, he’d known he had to leave. The pheromones were making him erratic, reckless, and the implication of how he might be undone completely if he ever came face to face with their owner disgusted him. He’d thought he’d mastered his biology – how dare some unknown alpha assault him so!

It meant nothing. 

He forbade himself from further contemplation.

And still he left.

 

* * *

 

One night, later, when Kael was drunk and Rommath was pretending to be – he didn’t trust himself with mind-altering substances, especially not around Kael – Kael had demanded that Rommath be his best man at his eventual wedding and that he be Rommath’s at his. “I must have the place of honour at my best friend’s wedding,” he insisted, draped over Rommath as though that place of honour would be the groom instead.

“Of course,” Rommath had stammered, full of emotion, though not the kind Kael had assumed. 

He still thought about that moment sometimes, shame and longing his familiar companions. What it would be like to be married to Kael’thas Sunstrider, to share his bed as well as his life. Foolish omega dreams, excited by Kael’s easy affection.

They rarely spoke of marriage, though, to Rommath’s everlasting relief. Instead they spoke of trysts and friends and adventure – and magic, always magic. Kael had always been a prodigy, but he became a man possessed when his father declared that he could leave the kingdom only when he had learned everything worth knowing in Quel’thalas. 

Kael dreamed of Dalaran, of exotic magics and strange peoples, of a land with seasons other than spring. Rommath privately thought that winter sounded appalling, and humans contemptuously provincial, but Kael’s enthusiasm was infectious, and Rommath had decided long ago that wherever Kael went, he would follow.

And so it was that, shortly after Kael’s one hundred and thirty-fifth birthday, the two of them set off for Dalaran. Kael and Rommath _had_ indeed learned everything worth knowing in Quel’thalas, and Anasterian could no longer deny his wayward son. The king impressed on Kael the importance of his duties as the sole living heir of the Sunstrider dynasty and bade him not dally too long, but ultimately they both knew that Kael would do as he pleased so long as his father still seemed hale and hearty.

Dalaran was cold and loud, full of coarse, unlovely people speaking Common, a language which Rommath spoke almost fluently but with an accent that made him appear strange and exotic – alongside the long ears, glowing blue eyes, and the serene, timeless nature of the high elves. At Kael’s side Rommath could cope with anything, but he felt desperately homesick.

The advantage of Dalaran, however, was that the city was more liberal than Silvermoon. Alphas were still over-represented, but betas were allowed far more power than in Quel’thalas: they even served on the Council of Six, it was rumoured, though the identities of its members were shrouded in secrecy. Omegas were still not allowed to study – too volatile, too weak, too occupied with heats and homemaking – but Rommath felt less scrutinised, less like he must prove his alpha status at every turn. Once he had settled in, grown used to the city, made friends, he felt more relaxed than he had ever been before.

Kael, too, had relaxed since coming to Dalaran. He had matured, had settled into his own skin. Freedom agreed with him, away from his father’s expectations and the constant judgments of the royal court. Nothing chafed at him now; he no longer sought out female company solely as a diversion. He comported himself with dignity and gravitas, and Rommath had never been more in love. Kael was the very vision of a Sunstrider scion, golden and regal and composed.

Rommath had not expected that Dalaran would have anything to teach him, but eventually he had to admit that Kael had been right in wanting to broaden his horizons. New schools of thought were spread and debated and accepted at a pace that made Silvermoon look positively glacial, and Rommath and Kael relished debating with peers in a way they had been unable to back home, still considered too young to have anything of substance to say.

The years passed, and to his surprise he grew to _like_ some of the humans of the Kirin Tor. Not many – he almost exclusively socialised with other high elves – but he began to follow Kael to gatherings and parties and ended up cultivating working relationships. A young beta archmage named Modera became his favourite of the humans, incisive, perceptive, steady, and kind; his reserved, aloof nature did not perturb her, and they spent many afternoons poring over theory books or tinkering in her workshop.

Many of the human mages he met reinforced his prejudices – Arugal and Kel’Thuzad especially were not nearly brilliant enough to justify their arrogant and dour demeanours, and it affronted him greatly that they, humans, would consider themselves superior to him if they knew he was an omega – but more and more Dalaran began to feel as much of a home as Silvermoon ever did. Especially when he and Kael sat by the fire in Kael’s sitting room on winter nights drinking hot chocolate and talking magic late into the night. Often they were joined by Krasus, Astalor, Telestra, others – Kael loved to host salons – but Rommath liked it best when they were alone. It was a real and joyous intimacy, and after two hundred-odd years of life it felt enough for him, mostly.

Mostly.

The arrival of Jaina Proudmoore, a dazzling and deeply controversial young apprentice, brought Rommath’s forced separateness into painful relief. Kael had loved before, of course, but no one had ever captured his heart so. As his closest friend, Rommath was privy to every high, every low, and was beseeched for advice that he was entirely unqualified to give, about a woman he thought wholly unsuitable, all while secretly pining for his affections. He bore it – his highest calling was to serve Kael in any and every capacity – but he had never felt more alone.

 

* * *

 

“I bring scandalous news,” Kael announced as he sat in one of the overstuffed armchairs in Rommath’s living room, crossing and re-crossing his ankles, clearly eager to impart the gossip.

“Who’s taken whom to their bed this time?” 

“Nothing so salacious, alas. Antonidas has taken a new apprentice.”

“Scandalous indeed.”

Kael scrunched his nose at Rommath. “An _omega_ apprentice.”

A jolt of adrenaline shot through Rommath, hot and unpleasant, his expression full of a shock that he quickly tempered.

“That’s a radical departure from tradition for an old man,” he said carefully, willing his heartbeat to slow, curling his fingers around his mug of tea for something to focus on.

“She is truly brilliant, he claims, and will be a danger to herself and others if she isn’t taught to control her powers. The council is in uproar.” Kael pursed his lips in amusement. “Antonidas has been accused of indecent intentions; I’ve never seen Kel’Thuzad so enraged.”

They did not often discuss Council business, but Kael didn’t insult Rommath’s intelligence by pretending he wasn’t a member. Ostensibly secret though the Council of Six’s identities may be, Rommath and Kael had been friends for so long that Rommath had guessed Kael’s appointment immediately.

“It’s always betas who cling to their status the most desperately,” Rommath said, hating himself for the sentiment but knowing it was expected of him.

Kael hummed. “Exactly. Personally, I think the old man does believe she’s talented – if he wanted a pretty young thing to play with he’d have countless volunteers within the hour.”

Rommath felt queasy at the thought, but it was true: powerful men were a great draw for those whose lives lacked security and status.

“Do _you_ believe she’s talented?” Rommath dreaded the answer but he was compelled to ask.

Kael took a sip of his tea, considering. “I voted to allow her the opportunity, but I must confess that I think she will fail. The strain of advanced learning is too hard on omegas, and she’s sixteen: she’ll want to find a mate soon. But it’s better to allow her to fail and put paid to the notion that omegas might actually be able to study magic, than to deny her and make her a cause to rally behind.”

I _am an archmage and an omega._

“Perhaps she will surprise us all.”

Kael chuckled, assuming irony. “Perhaps she will.”

 

* * *

 

And she did. 

All but Rommath, who feigned surprise nonetheless when Kael reported on her progress. 

_Brilliant; a prodigy; boundless potential._

He did not have to feign surprise when Kael confessed his love for her to him several years later, although in hindsight the signs had been there. Proudmoore was just so unsuitable a mate for Kael that Rommath hadn’t even recognised her as a prospect. Far too young, far too human. The youth, perhaps, could be overlooked, but neither the king nor the people would accept an omega human sorceress as Kael’s consort and future queen – if she even lived long enough to see Kael ascend the throne. Quel’thalas was less progressive even than Dalaran: she would be forced to give up her magic, to give Kael half-elf children that would be shunned by elves and humans both. To consider her as a match at all was patently absurd.

And yet, Kael loved her. Rommath had never seen Kael love someone so freely, so deeply. She was talented, dedicated. Full of kindness, full of hope. Brave and beautiful, compelled to speak for what she believed in even as arrogant old men scoffed at her.

“She’s as bright as the Sunwell, Rommath,” Kael had confessed, so earnest, so vulnerable, blue eyes shining with the depth of his feelings.

Kael had broken his heart by confiding in him, by dreaming of a life together that Rommath had yearned for himself, but Kael’s misery at being spurned for Arthas Menethil broke his heart all over again. He ached for his prince, and there was nothing, _nothing_ that he could do. His embrace was impotent, his words were inadequate. 

All he wanted was to fall to his knees, to offer Kael his love as a consolation or his body as a diversion – and for a moment, a long, sick, twisting moment, he was tempted to. Anything to relieve his friend’s pain, anything to wipe away the wobble in his voice and the redness of his eyes. 

But he couldn’t. He was too weak, too frightened. _He will be too taken aback to want you,_ he told himself. _You will burden him further._ Convenient justifications to prevent rejection, to prevent the collapse of all his fantasies.

 _I have failed you,_ he thought as he kissed the top of Kael’s head and announced that he would take him drinking.

That night Kael drank to drown his heartbreak, Rommath his shame. The wine tasted as sour as his conscience, sipped only sporadically, his drunkenness feigned like so much of his life.

_I am a liar and a coward._

But what good would getting drunk for real do either of them? Intoxicated, Rommath would declare his undying devotion, Kael would be forced to reject him, and his prince’s misery would be doubled. It would be beyond selfish.

Could one live a life of integrity when forced to hide who one really was? Rommath was constantly deceiving, eternally compromised. Spontaneity was impossible: every response, every course of action had to be analysed for danger. If the building toxicity of his heat blockers didn’t eventually kill him, his nerves certainly would.

Looking after Kael was his number one priority, though. As long as he was serving his prince Rommath would suffer anything. And so he pretended to drink, pretended to laugh, and did not press a kiss to drunk Kael’s wine-stained lips when he tucked him into bed in the early hours of the morning.

 _I am yours forever,_ Rommath vowed, settling Kael on his side, allowing his fingers to brush against his golden hair, a single stolen intimacy. He wanted to stay, wanted to watch over his prince in case he woke during the night, but his scent blockers would soon wear off and all manner of things might happen if he fell asleep during his vigil. He always smelled of omega upon waking even if his body hadn’t become aroused while sleeping. And with Kael in the room...

So he left. He blew out the candle, locked Kael’s rooms behind him, and retreated to his own bed, with its cold sheets and colder prospects. Kael, at least, would one day find love. His happiness would have to be enough for them both.

 

* * *

 

And Kael did find love, in a way – several years later, and right where he had left it.

“Talk me out of demanding satisfaction, Rom, I beg of you.” Kael paced, his fury a sharp, heavy scent that stirred Rommath’s omega instinct to comfort and forced him to viciously tamp it down.

“Menethil?” After two hundred years Rommath was used to conversations with little context. “Calm yourself. You know Jaina won’t like you fighting over her.”

Kael took a deep breath through his nose, forced himself to sit down. “You are ever my moral compass. You’re right, she would never forgive me.”

“The high ground always shows you to your best advantage, my prince.” Rommath gave him a wry, lop-sided smile. “I would hear the insult that has incited you to violence, though.”

“Arthas has withdrawn his suit. Claims he ‘isn’t ready’! The feckless boy has broken her heart and gallivanted back to Lordaeron, just in time for the start of the Season. He’ll be prowling the court within days, I have no doubt.”

“That’s extraordinarily poorly done.” It wasn’t taboo, but leading an omega to expect bonding and marriage and then withdrawing was deeply frowned upon, especially in noble circles. Arthas had not yet claimed her – achieved by biting one of the scent glands on an omega’s neck while they were being knotted during a heat, mingling their scents together permanently and marking them as the alpha’s property – so she was not ruined, but alphas would wonder why she had been spurned, potentially damaging her future prospects.

“I would never have treated her so. If she had chosen me she would have been my wife by now.”

Privately, Rommath was unconvinced by this – Kael required the king’s permission to marry and he was certain Anasterian would not grant it for a human omega sorceress – but perhaps Kael would have claimed her anyway and forced the issue, unwilling to be denied.

“You are certainly the better choice.” Equally privately, Rommath thought Jaina was better off staying far, far away from alphas altogether. As soon as she was claimed and married – one usually followed the other, although not always – she would be expected to drop her studies and start a family, and although the two of them were only acquaintances Rommath was certain that she would chafe at those bonds. Better for her to remain single for as long as she could, and almost certainly to not marry a prince and be thrust into the public eye with no chance of even casual study.

Rommath did not attempt to dissuade Kael, though, and over the next year Kael rekindled his friendship with Jaina slowly and carefully, giving her space, acting the perfect gentleman. Eventually she smiled more and became playful again. Kael was playing the long game – difficult for him, even though time meant less to them every year as high elves – but he was equally pleased just to be her friend once more. Rommath was sick with envy, but Kael was elated and that was all that mattered to him.

Time continued like this, Kael and Jaina becoming closer, Rommath trying to be a supportive friend. Aside from his jealousy, Rommath was largely content. As an archmage of Dalaran he was afforded a respect he’d feared he would never have, and he was surrounded by friends – even if he wished that sometimes he wasn’t. He much preferred studying to socialising, though he was grateful to have people who understood his occasional need for seclusion.

Rommath was content, but this contentedness would be his downfall.


	8. Chapter 8

Drenched sheets. Burning, sticky skin. Hot. Too hot. Kicking off the ruined bedclothes was barely relief. He ached, deep inside, his very core molten with need. Where was he? Who was he? The concept of self was far away, locked away, screaming silently behind bars in a cage of animal lust.

Dark room. Wet sheets. Body throbbing.

Suppressants. Forgotten. 

Too late. Too late.

Too late.

 

* * *

 

It was unlike Rommath to miss a lecture. He only ever did when Kael had dragged him somewhere the night before to lighten up, and even then he was usually to be found grumpy and suffering at the front of the hall, drowning himself with coffee. Missing a lecture and then a discussion group the next day was unprecedented, and deeply worrying. Rommath lived for his studies; Kael had never met a more annoyingly dedicated mage. Kael himself was dedicated – one had to be, to be on the Council of Six – but Rommath took his work so seriously that Kael saw it as his duty to drag him out of his rooms or the laboratories as often as possible.

Concerned for his friend, Kael felt no compunction in breaking into his rooms, laughably easy with a hairpin and clever fingers. Rommath had warded every entrance, every lock, every window with magics imposing and intricate; he had undoubtedly been so confident in his abilities that he had forgotten that more mundane solutions existed at all. He would be aghast that Kael knew how to pick locks like a common thief, but Kael intended to keep his method of entry a mystery. Rommath liked puzzles, and young Kael had liked freedom.

The living room was absent of his friend, everything neat and perfectly in its place as always. Rommath was eccentric in his extreme desire for privacy: their accommodations offered housekeeping, but he insisted on maintaining his quarters himself, and rarely entertained guests. Snooping was almost irresistible – what _was_ so in need of being hidden? – but Kael’s worry overrode all else.

Approaching the bedroom, dread churned in his stomach. He was steeling himself to fetch a healer: if he were well, Rommath would have made himself known as soon as someone had entered his apartments.

The handle was cold under Kael’s hand as he turned it. The smell hit him immediately... though it was not any of the ones he had feared. 

_Omega in heat._ Distressed, desperate, unbonded omega in heat. The room was so thick with it he almost choked. Never had he scented a need so strong. It called to him, pleaded for him. His nostrils flared. His cock was already rising, tenting the breeches beneath his robes. The omega before him needed to be knotted if they were to find relief; the sheer distress he smelled was anathema. It was impossible to ignore such a call, impossible to keep himself from going into rut, from needing to aggressively fuck the poor omega who hadn’t yet been claimed by an alpha of their own.

Something was wrong, though. In the dark, behind the sudden haze of lust and hormones, Kael’s mind was shouting. Whose room was he in? The pheromones were unfamiliar, but there was an undernote of – 

“Kael? I... I dreamed you’d come...” Voice breaking with need, Rommath lifted his head off the pillows, lips parted, eyes huge and glassy in the dark. His hand fell from his cock; the magical phallus in his ass ceased its motions. Chest heaving, he raised himself up on his elbows to better see the golden vision before him, haloed by the dim light of the living room behind him.

For nearly two days he had been delirious with need, time an everlasting illusion as he writhed on slick, sodden sheets, desperate to halt the monster within him for even a few short hours. He had floated in and out of lurid, purple dreams, fantasies that pushed and stretched and brought him to the very brink... only to pop like bubbles of soap scum, leaving him unclean and gasping. 

This fever dream already promised more – perhaps illusions of his prince would be enough to finally grant him respite. Thoughts of Kael’s kisses, Kael’s fingers, Kael’s _cock_ – perhaps they could achieve what his pitiful toy could not. Fucking himself with an arcane dildo only made him sob with desperation, and yet he had been rocking on it, grinding on it, pumping it frantically in and out for hours upon hours upon hours. 

The force of two centuries of missed heats was merciless, vengeful. The simulated knot, finely-crafted, could not fool his starved body. Rommath had never experienced a real alpha’s knot – though he had absorbed textbooks, gentlemen’s literature, and omega bodice-rippers with frenzied teenage curiosity – but his body knew what it needed, and what it needed was soft skin, a bulbous, throbbing knot, and enough hot semen to fill him to overflowing.

The thick scent of Kael’s arousal guided his body. He was spreading his legs, bringing his knees to his chest, rocking his hips up to present his sopping, aching hole to his prince. How good, how right it felt to lay himself out for his hungry alpha, to be utterly exposed and vulnerable and know he would be tended to. Everything throbbed, ready and eager to receive Kael’s cock, to envelop and squeeze and bring him pleasure. In this dream he would love Kael, would give him his body, the shameful secret that no one else could know.

“Kael...” he whispered as his prince nudged closed the bedroom door and conjured a magelight as soft and golden as his hair. Kael’s lips shone, damp from being licked, and his skin glowed as his robes dropped to the floor, pooling around his ankles. Standing in only breeches, his figure was breathtaking, all lean lines and regal angles. His cloud of hair hung to his narrow waist, cascading over his broad shoulders. He was too beautiful; Rommath’s breath hitched and he lowered a hand to tease himself, running a finger around the wet rim of his ass as he stared at Kael, transfixed.

Kael swallowed, licked his lips again. In the soft magelight his friend looked almost ethereal spread open on the bed, skin glinting with sweat and hair like midnight pooled around his shoulders and over the sheets. It made no sense, Rommath presenting himself like a needy omega, smelling like he needed Kael’s come – but sex didn’t need to make sense, not when the pheromones in the room were as strong as this. An unbonded omega was in desperate need of an alpha: it was as simple as that.

“Beautiful...” Kael murmured as he approached the bed. He should be looking at Rommath’s face, he knew, his dear friend’s severe brows and uncharacteristically soft eyes and flushed cheeks, but he couldn’t look away from what was being presented to him. Rommath’s hole glistened with slick, swollen and open slightly after being desperately fucked for hours with an arcane phallus. And he was still touching himself, looking up at Kael and biting his lip as he slipped two fingers inside, breathing laboured, chest rising and falling.

Kael’s cock sprang free as he pulled off his breeches, huge and proud and filling the room with the thick musky scent of an alpha in rut. “Do you want me?” he teased huskily, watching Rommath’s eyes grow large and his adam’s apple bob with desire.

Rommath answered with a low moan, beyond words. He removed his fingers and spread his legs even wider, straining to open himself for Kael as much as he could.

Kael’s stomach churned in unease and excitement. Seeing his friend – his taciturn, incisive, _alpha_ friend – a slave to his needs, wanton and moaning like a common whore, was strange, disquieting... but he felt deliciously powerful. Rommath had nothing clever to say now, no cutting remarks, no sardonic eyebrow raises. He needed Kael to fuck him, to breed him like his body wanted, and he would beg, Kael was sure, if he teased him further.

“Do you need me?” he repeated, kneeling on the bed before him, tracing a circle around Rommath’s slick hole as he looked into wide, dark eyes full of need and desperation.

Rommath rocked his hips up, seeking more. His voice broke on his affirmation, his flushed ears wilting onto the pillow as he pleaded.

“How much do you want my knot?” Slipping his finger inside, Kael marvelled at how hot and soft and wet Rommath was. He had fucked male betas in his first blush of youth, men who had been drawn to his power and charm, but the experiences had been largely disappointing, their asses needing copious amounts of lube to barely accommodate his alpha cock, and knotting frustratingly out of the question.

Rommath, however, was exquisitely wet and exquisitely needy. Kael had heard all about male omegas, though he had never had one. They were sluts for a fat knot, capable of taking cock for days on end, spreading their legs for any alpha who smelled good. And so far, Rommath seemed no different. The whimper that escaped from him as he tried to respond to Kael’s question was beautiful, full of desperation and raw animal need.

“Do you want this?” he asked, rubbing the head of his cock across Rommath’s asshole, letting it dip in slightly to tease him.

Rommath’s upper body shook as though he were sobbing.

“Should I use your mouth instead?”

Still shaking, Rommath squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, trying to gather himself. When he opened them again his gaze implored Kael to take pity on him, to end his torment. Kael had never noticed how soulful Rommath’s eyes were, so black they shone almost blue in the soft light. 

There were many things Kael had never noticed.

“ _Kael_ –” Rommath knew he was disgracing himself. Even in a fever dream he was weak and shameful. Defined by his intellect, he had been brought low by hormones, by his body’s pulsing need to be fucked. Every word cracked and broke. All he was capable of was noise – moans and gasps and this final, humiliating whine, so needy he wanted to sob. For more than two centuries he had avoided this, had risen above his biology. He was aghast how quickly he had broken.

“You poor thing,” Kael purred, looming over him, hooking his splayed legs over his shoulders and pushing until Rommath was bent completely in half, open and vulnerable. “I never knew you wanted my cock so badly.” Kael teased him with the tip of his cock again, encouraged by his whimper. “Tell me just how badly you want it.”

Trying to roll his hips up, Rommath keened as he realised he was completely pinned and utterly at Kael’s mercy. “I need you,” he managed to force out, voice pitiful and broken and on the verge of weeping. What manner of fever dream was this – so cruel, so exquisite?

“Then here I am.”

Rommath moaned, moaned and moaned and moaned as Kael plunged into him all the way, stretching and spearing him with a cock that throbbed so hard he could feel it pulse. He was so wet that Kael had just slid in, welcomed and urged deeper by Rommath’s needy body. Kael’s cock was so thick, so delicious. Every inch of Rommath’s swollen walls was alight with sensation, his body rewarding him for finally being mounted by an alpha. It was the best thing he had ever felt... and it was the worst thing he had ever felt.

 _This isn’t a dream._ He was feverish from the raging strength of his heat, his consciousness hazy and altered and burning, but this was no fever dream. The pleasure he felt as Kael began to rock in and out of him with long, slow, teasing strokes was too good, too specific, too _real_ to be a mere product of his mind. It was overwhelming in its ecstasy. For a brief, hideous moment he felt sick, his eyes meeting Kael’s with an intimacy they should never have shared, but it left as swiftly as it had come, swept away by sensations that made him stupid, that made his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back.

“So wet,” Kael marvelled, his thrusts accompanied by slick, moist sounds that heated Rommath’s cheeks. “You’ve needed this for a long time, haven’t you?”

Eyes fluttering open, Rommath moaned in agreement. He had, he had. Since he had presented over two centuries before he had been itching inside, as tightly-wound as the ropes with which he had bound his desires. Fear, pride, shame: the jailer had become the jailed, trapped, lonely and aching. How blessedly free he felt now, on his back and moaning like the slut he had always feared he’d be.

To his great embarrassment, Rommath’s orgasm was already building, a deep, urgent ache that spiralled inside him as Kael’s cock massaged every nerve and hit his prostate on every stroke. He’d played with himself countless times with all manner of toys, but the feel of skin, warm and soft and silky, was exquisite, erotic. His body knew it was a real cock, knew he was being fucked by a real alpha with real pheromones and a real knot, and it was rewarding him with the deepest, most complex pleasure he could have ever conceived of.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Kael leaned his head down to lick at Rommath’s mouth, humming with amusement as Rommath’s tongue slid against his, seeking a kiss. “You should have spread your legs for me sooner.”

And why hadn’t he? Why had he denied himself this pleasure? His cock had never leaked like this before, drooling over his belly in slick strings. His stomach had never jolted with such excitement, his ass had never squeezed and pulsed so wildly. He could barely think, could barely breathe.

When Kael kissed him he came, his orgasm blossoming out from his core, molten pleasure coursing through his body like magma, thick and hot and viscous, his fever intensifying. Kael’s mouth swallowed Rommath’s strangled moan, lips pressing his head down into the pillows as he bucked and spasmed, his cock spilling his semen between them in time with the rhythmic contractions of his ass.

When Rommath finally opened his eyes, Kael broke the kiss. “Mmm, that looked like it felt good.”

Rommath whimpered: the lovely little aftershocks of his orgasm were squeezing Kael as he continued to slide in and out of him. He felt dizzy with desire, his body still painfully unsatisfied.

“But you still need a knot, don’t you?” Kael pressed a soft kiss to Rommath’s lips; when he pulled back he was smirking. “Don’t worry, I’ll fill you up. I’ll make you _scream_.”

Rommath squeezed his eyes shut with a little moan, both aroused and afraid. Sex had already been a thousand times better than he’d imagined, and everything he’d read suggested that being knotted was even better than _that_. His body would be pleased, soothed. He would finally experience what he’d been made for. But... what if it hurt? How big _was_ it? The simulated knot of his toy had always been completely under his control. Had Kael realised that this was Rommath’s first time? 

Better if he hadn’t. Kael had already discovered Rommath was an omega – he couldn’t bear to be treated like a tender, blushing virgin on top of that. He’d rather Kael saw him as a desperate slut, someone to be fucked, not pitied. And if it hurt, well, what was one more discomfort in his life? 

Kael continued to thrust into him, grazing his prostate again and again, watching with hungry eyes as Rommath made soft little sounds in his throat on every stroke. Surely he would knot him soon? Waiting for it to happen was unbearable. “Please, now,” Rommath groaned, trying to rock his hips up, a humiliating whine escaping as he remembered he had no leverage folded under Kael. “Please.”

Something in Rommath’s tone touched a deep, primal part of Kael. Growling, he nipped at Rommath’s neck and began to pound into him, Rommath’s overwhelmed cries accompanied by the rhythmic creaking of the bed beneath them. It was savage and terrible, breathtaking and beautiful. Kael’s teeth were sharp, frightening, but the skin didn’t break, Kael drew no blood. Rommath was completely taken, completely powerless; he threw his head back to submit himself completely and thought he would come again, his stomach fluttering wildly and his pulse hammering in his ears.

Kael growled again, deep and rumbling. Rommath gasped: he could _feel_ the base of Kael’s cock beginning to swell inside him, hot and throbbing, slowly pushing against his walls, stretching him deliciously. He gasped again, voice breaking, as the growing knot was thrust in and out of his asshole, stretching it so wide he feared he would break, his panic wild and dripping with ecstasy. 

His fear was for naught, however. Aware of his size, Kael pushed inside one final time and began forcefully grinding against Rommath, skin against skin, soft golden hair teasing Rommath’s balls, Kael’s taut belly rubbing against his reawakened cock. 

Rommath nearly sobbed as Kael began to suck fiercely at the scent gland on his neck – it was almost, almost painful, a dark pleasure that made his chest heave and his breath catch. It would bruise for weeks, Kael’s way of marking his territory without permanently claiming him. 

It felt good to belong to Kael in this moment, trapped beneath him with his knot swelling in his ass, almost ready to fill him up with burning hot semen. He’d wanted this, hadn’t he? In his midnight fantasies, held close and taken all night by his prince?

Suddenly, Rommath cried out, again and again and again, panting and sobbing, his body bucking and stiffening under Kael. Muscles he’d only vaguely known he possessed had caught Kael’s knot as it reached full size, huge inside him, and oh, it was far, far from painful. He was stretched, so perfectly, deliciously stretched, and this inner ring of muscle was tightening and contracting around Kael, rhythmically pulsing, pulling a second orgasm from Rommath that made him wail, hands closing on Kael’s shoulders like claws.

Everything inside him was clenching, fluttering. Kael growled, still sucking, still bruising, and then he was shooting jet after jet of come up into Rommath, hot sticky ropes that coated his walls, warm and wet and filling. Rommath could feel Kael’s cock throbbing, could feel every spurt and every twitch of his heavenly knot. His ass was gripping him, encouraging him. Rommath thought he might be calling Kael’s name.

Something deep, deep inside was contracting, giving rich, velvety waves of pleasure that rippled all the way down to his entrance, massaging Kael’s cock, thanking Kael’s cock. His heart skipped a beat as he realised it must be his cervix, lowering to dip into Kael’s seed, to drink it up through each lovely contraction. He could become pregnant from this, grow round with Kael’s pups. To his shame, the thought made the contractions stronger, made his orgasm wilder. His cock swelled and surged between them, coating their bellies with his own semen again. He was screaming as Kael had promised, overloaded with pleasure. 

Full, he was so full. Reading about it had not prepared him for the reality of an alpha’s half-minute ejaculation. His cervix must be bathing in seed by now, completely coated and filling his womb like his body so badly wanted. It was gorgeous, exquisite, every flutter and pulse a fulfilment of his purpose. He could lie here like this forever, shaking with pleasure, completely at peace with himself like he had never been before.

Eventually Kael sagged, his face falling to the pillow, his body a delectable weight pressing Rommath further into the mattress. Both spent, they lay there for a while, basking in the afterglow and the quiet joy of skin on skin. Hazy, sated, Rommath could pretend for a while that he had wanted this, that this had been an act of love, a joining of bodies to worship one another. He loved Kael, after all. Had always loved him, quietly and fiercely, a deep, private love that had kept his heart alight even as he’d known that nobody could ever love a male omega like him.

When Kael stirred, he looked down at Rommath with satisfied, half-lidded eyes. “Feel better?”

Rommath groaned in response, unwilling for conversation to take him out of his cocoon. He did feel better, though. At least, his body was no longing tormenting him, his fervent heat sliding into a sense of wellbeing akin to floating in a tropical pool, warm and enveloping with a blue sky stretching endlessly above him. That was better, wasn’t it? 

“That good?” Kael chuckled. Rommath’s heart ached for how handsome he was. “You smell calmer now. I’m glad. It must have hurt, lying here like that for days.” Gently, Kael unhooked Rommath’s legs from his shoulders, settling them down around his waist. Rommath gasped as Kael’s knot tugged at him, pleasurable but also alarming, forcing his hips to shift with Kael’s. They would remain joined together for some time, the knot ensuring that no semen would escape until Rommath’s body had had time to drink it all up.

Rommath flushed an even deeper red, his ears burning. It was painfully intimate to be lying here with his prince, his legs around Kael’s waist and his ass still twitching around Kael’s knot. He closed his eyes, willing the dream to last a little longer. They had made love; Kael wanted him as his mate, his constant companion. He would grow round with Kael’s pups and bask in his delight, his radiant smile, his strong arms. He would be loved. He would never be alone again. Everything he had denied wanting was now his to cherish.

Kael kissed his brow and tenderly stroked Rommath’s damp, sweaty hair away from his face, languid and affectionate. Rommath rubbed against his hand, enjoying the touch, drifting further into his fantasy and closer towards an exhausted sleep. His heart rate slowed, his body let go of the last of its tension. Kael’s scent was sated, protective. Rommath breathed it in like a drug, pleased to have satisfied him. That was what a good omega did for his alpha, and Rommath was good, he would be so so good, if only Kael would keep him.

 

* * *

 

A strong arm drew him closer. Rommath nuzzled into the crook of his alpha’s neck, inhaling deeply, the musky scent of sweat and growing arousal a pleasant awakening. Soft, warm, safe. His hair was being stroked. He sighed, full of blessed contentment, relaxed and boneless.

And then his alpha spoke.

“Good morning, darling.” Kael’s voice was husky and playful. “Want to go again?”

Rommath jumped as though he’d been stung, scrambling away, away, away. The floor was hard as he crashed onto it on his back, one of his feet tangled in the slick, disgusting sheets. With wild eyes and stiff ears he looked up at Kael – _naked Kael, amorous Kael_ – mouth open in horror. “Out! Get out!” His voice cracked, skirting the edge of hysteria.

The whole room stank. Rommath’s gorge rose. Sex, sweat, slick, semen, and the overwhelming scent of Kael’s maleness, Kael’s pheromones. His own body reeked of it. A trickle of Kael’s seed ran between his buttocks from his tender asshole, and again he nearly vomited.

“Rommath...” Conciliatory and soothing, Kael kneeled, unhooked Rommath’s trapped foot, offered his hand to help pull him back up onto the bed. “You’re okay, it’s me, it’s me.”

Kael’s hand on his foot was another knife in his gut. Staring, the whites of his eyes flashing like a feral lynx, Rommath pressed himself up against the wall, reaching blindly along the floor for something to cover himself with. Kael was naked, _he_ was naked, and he was very much still in heat, although the urgent fever of the past few days had thankfully broken.

Broken because Kael had fucked him. Fucked him, knotted him, and pumped him full of come that was slimy on his sheets, his floor, inside him.

“Get out!” he said again, chest heaving, still staring at Kael, stricken with panic and fear. He let himself feel it: alphas around omegas in heat were dangerous, and Kael’s proud erection made it very obvious what he wanted – but distressed pheromones from an omega were unbearable to many alphas, the ones who did not enjoy visiting pain. Kael wouldn’t hurt him, would want to comfort him. Rommath couldn’t be comforted, nothing could ever lessen this horror, but he would suffer any humiliation, suffer any revealing of his weakness, if it meant that Kael would leave.

Kael’s magnificent brows furrowed. “I just want to help you,” he said. “I thought we could spend the day together, see you through the rest of this...” He trailed off, flustered. Rommath evidently wasn’t the only one who didn’t want the word ‘heat’ to colour the air.

“Get out!”

“At least let me bring you water? Food? You need it, after...” 

_After producing enough slick to fill a bath_ , Rommath thought, sick and ashamed.

He squared his shoulders, balled his fists. “Get. Out.”

Kael’s face set and his scent changed: angry. Stubborn. “Very well, then. Don’t call for me later when you’re wet and desperate!” He slid off the bed, started picking up his rumpled clothes. “I never thought of you as flighty.”

Rommath snarled, all teeth and instinct. “Flighty?!”

Kael fixed him with a look of haughty contempt as he settled his robes about himself. “You wanted it last night. Begged for it. ‘ _Please, now. I need you. I dreamed you’d come..._ ’ And now you’re treating me like a villain because you’re ashamed. I thought you’d be grateful.”

“You didn’t think at all!” Rommath’s heart roared in his ears.

Kael gave a small, dismissive snort. “There wasn’t much to think about with you presenting your ass to me like that. I’ve never smelled any omega so in need of a cock before.”

“I don’t need cock, and I don’t need _you_. _Get – out!_ ” Rommath growled.

Kael opened the door, looked back at Rommath. “All male omegas are insatiable knot sluts. You need cock like you need air. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you’ll stop being such an uptight bitch.”

Rommath gaped at him, ears wilting, brows drooping. “You’re incredible,” he managed to bite out, though not nearly so viciously as he’d wanted.

“I know. You said as much last night.”

The door slammed behind Kael; Rommath felt it shudder through the wall at his back. Or perhaps that was his body, overloaded with adrenaline and unhappiness. Bowing his head between his knees, he willed himself to breathe, slow and deep and even. His hands trembled together on his bare shins. He could not stop himself from shaking.

_Flighty. Knot slut. Uptight bitch._

Kael had known his secret for one night and already he was flinging insults. The only alpha to ever know had seen him and proclaimed him a knot slut. He wanted to vomit. Wanted to purge himself of every fluid inside him until he was scoured clean and freshly hurting.

_Every fluid._

Rommath whipped his head up so quickly he cracked it against the wall. What time was it? How long had they slept for? The weak sunbeam spearing the floor nearly made him vomit for real. Though he had never foreseen having the need to use it, he knew that Stilling Elixir was effective for no more than eight hours after intercourse. He had... he didn’t know how long he had. When had Kael come to him? When had Kael come inhim? The previous night had been a feverish haze of heat and agony and pleasure. He didn’t know how Kael had even arrived, though oh, how he wished he hadn’t.

 _Kael._ The scent of him was still overwhelming, as though his prince were right there with him. It had been a comfort, once, illicit but calming and – Sunwell, no. He flinched, jerked, flung away the undershirt he had used to cover his groin. It was Kael’s. Stolen from his rooms mere days ago to sleep with on his pillow, to cover his face with while fantasising. He groaned: how could he have missed this sign that he was on the cusp of his heat? Kael’s undershirt, the extra blankets he had piled on his bed... he was such a fool. He’d become complacent and happy, and time had run away from him.

Well, happiness would burden him no longer.

Semen dripped from him unpleasantly as he hurried to his workroom. He rummaged in his potions cabinet with increasing desperation and increasingly shaky hands as it failed to offer up the ingredients he needed. Jars clinked and rattled; bundles of dried herbs scratched at his hands; wax paper packets slid off the shelves, brazen in their uselessness.

A quiet moan escaped from deep in his lungs. Without maiden’s daisy he had no Stilling Elixir. And without Stilling Elixir he might...

He slammed his fist down on one of the paper packets. Broken honeycomb skittered across the floor.

Kael hadn’t even given it a thought. Clearly he was used to bedding omegas who took contraceptives before their heats – responsible omegas who knew their bodies and weren’t left alone and afraid. Kael would help him if he sent a message calling him back, though. Even angry, Kael would respond to a cryptic “bring me the most vital potion”. He knew he would. Their bond ran deeper than friendship; Kael would never intentionally hurt him.

It was no use, though. By the time Kael saw his note and brought the potion it would be too late. It might already be too late. And although one could procure any ingredients at any time of day in Dalaran if one knew where to look, Rommath was still in heat. No scent blocker in the world would be strong enough. Any alphas and omegas out on the streets would smell him, and though disguising himself would save his identity from being discovered, alpha interest would be bothersome at best and unthinkable at worst. Omegas in heat did _not_ wander the streets alone.

So. A bath, then. No crying and wringing of hands for Rommath. He would not shame himself so.

The water was almost scalding; it felt good to clean himself, to scour himself. Cathartic. The Rommath Kael had fucked had been sweaty, filthy. Soaping their combined fluids away was like cleansing his mind. The panic of earlier melted into a serene fatalism. He would spend the rest of the week writhing in bed, in heat. He would spend the next few months wondering if Kael’s child was growing within him. These things would happen whether he accepted them or not. No number of tears would change this.

He burned his bedding, a brief, controlled inferno in the fireplace. The memory of what had taken place on those sheets could never be laundered out. New sheets, for a new day. Changing them now was pointless – he would ooze sweat and slick on them all over again for another five days – but he couldn’t bear filth against his skin. At least this time he was lucid enough to lay down some towels as the demanding heat rose inside him, as his body once more betrayed him by clamouring for a knot.

One knot. He had had one knot, one glorious, solitary knot, in his whole two hundred-odd years of life, unasked for and uninvited, and he might already be pregnant.

The sob that barely escaped the back of his throat as his heat began to claim him once more was small and soft and full of shame. 

_Dath’anar shari shari’fal._ Whatever will be, will be.

 

# End of Part One

 


	9. Part Two: Metamorphosis

Rommath had always hated Dalaran’s winters. The cold chilled his ears, the snow in the streets quickly became icy and dirty, and the short days gave him a feeling of ennui that he could never shake. But today, the brisk, crisp air was actually agreeable after a week of being in heat, writhing insensate on sweat-soaked sheets. 

At this early hour he had this particular nook of the park to himself, a blessed quiet in which to come back to himself and shed the clammy, unclean feeling of recent days. The sky was slowly brightening, the grass was frosted, and even the birds seemed sympathetic to his need for tranquility, their song pleasant and lulling.

A squirrel was scrabbling at the base of a tree, no doubt searching for buried acorns. It was soothing to watch, the existence of uncomplicated lives around him a comfort when his own had been irrevocably shattered. The perspective was deeply welcome, a reminder of his relative cosmic unimportance – that this too would pass. Whether he was pregnant with a Sunstrider bastard, whether his friendship with Kael was forever ruined, life would go on.

That wasn’t to say that he wasn’t miserable, though. He was dehydrated and weak after days and days without proper food and drink, his throat achy and bruised, his face gaunt and pale. Nausea churned in his gut, never letting him forget that he might be with child. Logically he knew it was far too soon to know, and that the sick feeling was likely from how badly his body had been treated while he’d been utterly alone during his devastating heat, but it was a painfully classic sign for a painfully classic situation. Unwanted pregnancy from unwanted sex was a tale as old as time.

He should seek out Kael, he knew, talk about what had happened, but just the idea made him want to vomit. The thought of even seeing Kael’s face filled him with a slimy morass of shame and repulsion and anger and longing. There was too much to rage about, too much to cry about. 

Rommath prided himself on being logical, but looking at the situation impartially felt like an act of violence against himself. They had _both_ been at the mercy of their biology that night, his intense heat pheromones sending Kael into rut, but knowing that didn’t help; he still felt violated and dirty. He’d been forced to be an animal, reduced to his most base biological purpose entirely against his will, and he had _enjoyed it._ It was almost impossible for him not to have done, but he still felt deeply ashamed. 

He was just another omega slut after all.

How could he ever reconcile that night with over two hundred years of longing? He had wanted to sleep with Kael for nearly his entire life; it had been the subject of almost all his fantasies. He had wanted it, but...

 _Not like that._ _Not like_ this _._

Rommath had long ago accepted that a relationship with Kael would be impossible. He’d resigned himself to a life of celibacy, made his peace with it, but even _that_ choice – as much as it had been a choice – had been taken from him. How was he supposed to live now that his fantasies had been ripped from him? How was he supposed to live now that he’d had a taste of what he’d always feared he’d love? Kael would not want him; Kael wanted Jaina. And who could blame him? She was bright, lovely, honest, everything that Rommath was not.

And Kael – Kael seemed less lovely now, in the cold light of a frosty winter’s day. He should have known that Rommath didn’t want it. He should have _known_. Not once in two hundred years had Rommath come to Kael as an omega. On that terrible night he had spread his legs and begged for it, but he hadn’t been _Rommath_ , hadn’t been _himself_.

 _You should have_ known _,_ he wanted to scream. He wanted to scream it again and again until he was hoarse and trembling. He wanted to ball his hands into fists and thump on Kael’s chest until his arms could move no longer. And then Kael would wrap his arms around him, stroke his hair, soothe him and promise everything would be alright again – 

“That’s one hungry squirrel, huh?”

Rommath came back to himself with a jolt, looked up at the speaker with dark eyes and flushed cheeks that he hoped would be blamed on the cold.

“Archmage Proudmoore,” he said stiffly, his resentment leaking. Why was Jaina Proudmoore of _all_ people in this distant corner of the park so early in the morning? He knew he should stand, should bow, but he was tired and weak and angry. She was lucky he’d addressed her at all.

“Prince Kael’thas mentioned you had a bad fever. It’s good to see you well enough to enjoy the fresh air! Everyone’s been worried about you.” 

Rommath was certain that absolutely nobody had been worried, but Proudmoore’s warmth and concern thawed him a little. “My lady is kind,” he rasped, his raw voice evidence of his illness. He hoped this would be the end of the conversation, but Proudmoore forged on.

“You have a lovely scarf! Is it from Silvermoon City? Kael’thas has mentioned how beautiful your dyes are.”

The scarf was indeed from Silvermoon, red and gold, finely woven. It was currently hiding the giant purple bruise Kael had left on his neck, a hideous, painful memento that he was ashamed to have enjoyed.

Rommath did not want to talk about it.

Rommath did not want to talk about anything, but Proudmoore clearly wanted something from him. It would be better to get it over with.

“Is there some manner in which I may aid you?”

Jaina’s face made it evident, just for a moment, that he was being unconscionably rude, but she rallied admirably.

“Well, if we’re skipping the niceties, Archmage, I had hoped to ask your advice.”

Rommath raised an eyebrow. “Me? You must be desperate.” Her straightforward manner pleased him, though; he shuffled to the edge of the bench and gestured lazily for her to sit.

“I prefer ‘resourceful’.” Jaina flashed Rommath a sunny smile that he found charming against his will. They were not friends – Rommath had studiously avoided her, not wanting to be linked to another omega mage – and they had only their omega status and friendship with Kael in common, but he was finding her grudgingly likable even through his wariness and resentment. “My question is about Prince Kael’thas.”

“And so you’ve braved the barbed tongue of his closest and grumpiest friend.” Rommath huffed softly. “Ask your question.”

“Would he be a good mate?” The words tripped off Jaina’s tongue as though they were being shoved.

_And here it is._

The question had been obvious, but it still stirred in Rommath a cold anger that rested in his chest like an icicle, barbed and vicious and dripping.

“For you? No.” Saying this felt like a betrayal of Kael, but misleading Proudmoore would be worse, would be unforgivable. “Better than Menethil – but my lady, I implore you: do not take a mate. Do not get married. Especially not to a prince.”

From Jaina’s face Rommath could tell she had expected to hear the opposite, had perhaps expected – wanted? – to be talked into choosing Kael. And on any other day, he might not have felt so strongly, might have equivocated and tried to discharge his duty to his friend _and_ his fellow omega.

Today, however: “All alphas are bastards.”

Jaina’s eyes widened as he swore, and he found that he enjoyed it.

“They’re arrogant and proud, and care only about getting their cocks wet. They might feel some affection for their omegas, but only in the way one feels affection for a pet. If you allow one to claim you, you will become _property_. They will use you to breed their pups and it will _chain_ you. No more magic, no more freedom – especially if you choose a prince. You will be a pretty little pet to fuck, nothing more.” His throat burned, but the words would not be stopped. “Have sex if you must, but _never_ in heat – don’t even let them near you. Don’t even let them know. And never trust their honeyed words: they have everything to gain while you have _everything_ to lose.”

Jaina was silent – shocked by his crudity? – and the longer she was silent, the more the icicle in his heart turned to water in his veins. ‘They’. ‘They, they they’. Not ‘us’. Not ‘we’.

Eventually, circumspectly: “And are you a bastard, Archmage Rommath?”

He closed his eyes, angry at himself, angry at Kael, angry at the young woman beside him who had made him reveal more of himself than he had ever intended or wanted. Angry at a world that forced him to lie and hide every single day of his life. “The biggest of them all.”

He stood, drew his cloak more firmly around him, scrutinised Jaina’s face. Her expression was guarded but she could not disguise the gentleness of her mouth, the compassion in her eyes, not from someone who had hidden their true nature for over two hundred years.

Rommath hated her for it.

“Do not mistake me, Proudmoore. Marry one of your golden princes if you must. I have no stake in your happiness. But I would not see your gift wasted, and neither, I would wager, would Antonidas. You could become one of the greatest human sorcerers the world has ever seen. It would be beyond selfish to throw that away for the foolish notion of ‘romance’.”

 _Hypocrite, coward._ He had to offend her, though, draw her away from any suspicions his unfortunate outburst might have engendered.

“Do not let the old men of this city think that omegas aren’t suited for the rigours of magic after all. This is your burden. That was your choice. Don’t let softness be your legacy.”

Jaina shot up from the bench to face him, more than half a foot shorter and not at all intimidating. Rommath admired the fire in her eyes though. “My legacy is none of your business!”

“Correct.” Kael had told Rommath countless times that his scowl could frighten small children, and today he deployed it with precision and panache. “But you asked for advice, and I gave it. Bother someone else if the answer displeases you.”

“It’s not the answer that displeases me.”

“Good. It’s the answer that matters.” Rommath closed his eyes; he felt three thousand years old. “You’re young and talented – don’t throw your life away.” 

With a last, awkward meeting of their eyes, Jaina’s blue and full of life, Rommath’s black and full of weariness, Rommath turned and walked away, his mistreated body protesting as he feigned vigour and purpose. Jaina did not call after him, and he did not look back. 

In another life, another world, he could have been a mentor to her, given her advice more nuanced than ‘all alphas are bastards’. In this life, however, even that had been an egregious mistake, and one he might end up paying for dearly. Jaina Proudmoore did not seem the type to out him or even hold it over his head, but if she _did_ suspect him it was yet another danger vector to keep in mind. It was possible that his outburst hadn’t given him away, but Jaina was intelligent and Rommath knew better than to count on possibilities.

Bitterly, he thought that he knew better now than to count on anything at all.

 

* * *

 

Late that night, when he could avoid returning home no longer, he found Kael waiting for him, leaning against the wall beside the door of his apartment, desultorily thumbing through a tattered copy of _Arcane Glamour_ , the most upmarket of Quel’thalas’s gossip glossies.

For a moment Rommath considered walking back out onto the street, but he couldn’t face labelling himself a coward a second time that day – which was just as well because Kael had snapped his magazine closed and was looking at him with tired eyes full of relief. There would be no escape unless he was willing to cause a scene.

Kael’s nervous energy was palpable. Words were clearly rioting on his tongue, barely held in check. Rommath silently let himself into his apartments and allowed Kael to follow him, thankful that Kael was aware of the need for discretion. The room was chilled after being vacant all day, but Rommath already felt feverish in Kael’s presence. He stared at the empty fireplace, back stiff, ears set.

“I’m so glad you’ve returned,” Kael began, restless behind him. “I heard – I heard you’d been about town, and I’ve wanted...” He breathed out heavily through his nose and started again. “I’m so sorry, Rom.” Rommath had never heard Kael sound so hesitant, so unsure. “I knew as soon as I’d cooled down that I’d been frightful, and I wanted to come back to – to help, but I thought that might not be... wise, and I’ve been feeling terrible all this time knowing I said those awful things to you!”

“ _You’ve_ been feeling terrible?” Rommath turned, steeling himself to withstand the beautiful, sorrowful face he had always indulged.

Kael barely seemed to register Rommath’s quiet disbelief. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed, not with me. Ideally I’d have found out in better circumstances, but there’s nothing to be ashamed about – it’s natural for omegas to act like that when they’re in heat.”

“You think I’m _embarrassed_?”

Kael came closer, wrapped what he evidently thought was a comforting arm around Rommath’s shoulders. “Don’t be like that. It was rather obvious after you chased me out, and I wish you wouldn’t be. We’re best friends, aren’t we?”

Rommath pushed his arm off. “You think I wanted you to leave because I was _embarrassed_?”

Kael frowned. “What were you, then?”

Heart hammering, chest heaving, Rommath felt like screaming. _Violated, abused, afraid,_ that’s _what I was._ But he couldn’t shout, not when he had even a shred of self-control remaining.

“I didn’t want it,” he ground out, fists balled.

“But you were begging –”

“I was in _heat_!” Rommath snarled, nostrils flaring, canines flashing. Kael took a step back.

“If you were in heat then you needed it,” Kael said, patiently, as though explaining to a novice. “If you’d come to me sooner you wouldn’t have suffered so much.”

“I didn’t need it and I didn’t want it! _I_ will choose the manner of my suffering, not you, and not anybody else!” He was panting, rasping. The impulse to claw at Kael’s face slashed through him, red and black and primal.

“Rom, calm down. You’re being dramatic.” Kael didn’t dare touch him this time, but his voice was pitched to soothe.

“Dramatic?!” Incredulity twisted his face. “You violate me in my own bed and you dare call me dramatic?”

Kael’s anger flared, painting the room with a scent that would have cowed lesser omegas. “I apologise and you _dare_ call _me_ a –” He cut himself off, agitated, ears flicking.

The weight of the word he swallowed back hung heavy between them, stark and ugly, the hammer that would shatter their friendship if it were made manifest.

“You should leave,” Rommath said hoarsely. He didn’t know if he was commanding or begging.

“Yes.” Kael was staring at him strangely, the tips of his ears beginning to flush. Kael’s scent was shifting, and Rommath realised with shame and horror that his high emotions had broken through his blockers, that he smelled like an omega again. 

Kael was still angry, but a sultry tension was building between them, dark and viscous. The last time they had been together they had fucked, and the dilation of their pupils, the scents in the air, made it clear that they were both remembering how well they had fit together, how pleasurable the encounter had been. 

Disgust surged through Rommath as a part of him whispered that they could fuck again, that they could sate their anger with sharp teeth and slamming hips. That Kael could hike his robes up, bend him over the arm of the sofa...

“Go,” Rommath said softly. He moistened his parted lips, made himself ball his fists by his sides. Angry, aroused – the cocktail was dangerous, ruinous.

Kael closed his eyes, took a long, shuddering breath. He turned and made his way to the door as though he was re-learning how to walk, his golden hair beautiful as it swayed.

“Seek me out when you wish to talk again,” he said, looking back at Rommath with eyes that spoke of lust and spark and sorrow.

Rommath forced his own eyes to harden, but it was only for vanity – his scent was the same as Kael’s: aroused, afraid. 

And that scent lingered, even after Kael had left. Even after Rommath had closed his eyes, stood very still, and worked on calming himself.

Striding over to the window, he yanked it open, the gust of icy wind that rushed in as scathing as his current regard for himself. Aroused by Kael, after everything that had happened? _Pathetic_. 

No – _humiliating._ He had lambasted Kael, had shoved their friendship to the very edge of the abyss in anger and outrage... and still, beneath it all, he was a soft omega who could barely resist alpha cock. Rommath did not doubt that this was what Kael would choose to focus on, to believe in. Embarrassed. Emotional. Vulnerable. _In need of a guiding hand._

He slammed the window shut so hard he felt his teeth rattle along with the frame.

All he was in need of was solitude. Nobody to judge him, pity him, disparage him. Nobody to touch him. Nobody to care what was under his robes.

He was lying to himself, of course – a good cuddle would likely quiet the turbulence in his heart – but Rommath was a consummate dissembler. As skilled in the art of deception as he was in the arcane. So many lies over the centuries for Kael to consider at his leisure over wine.

A chirp sounded at his feet; his cat had an envelope in her mouth. It had pleased him during her kittenhood to train her to bring him his post – a proper archmage should have a dutiful familiar, and Kim’dal – Little Star – was the brightest and most faithful of them all. She occasionally punctured his mail, but she never asked questions.

Squatting down to take the letter and rub her under the chin, Rommath winced. Every muscle still ached; standing back up was agony. Fresh anger shot through him: how could he have been so incompetent? Forgetting his suppressants like a careless adolescent! The pains were the very least of it. Perhaps it _would_ have been better if Kael had stayed. Alphas cared for their omegas during their heats, relieving their urgency but also their needs, bringing food and drink, bathing them... Rommath had survived on conjured water, but it wasn’t supposed to be that way. He was supposed to have a mate who would love him and hold him – heat weeks were a time for bonding, for strengthening relationships.

Instead, his heat had broken his and Kael’s. Kael had invited Rommath to talk when he was ready, but Rommath couldn’t envisage ever being ready, ever wanting to rehash the ugly, pulsing morass of their conversation.

Kim’dal chirped again, winding around his feet. Clearly he was wasting too much time brooding when he could be brushing, stroking, or playing.

The letter was still in his hand.

_Proudmoore._

Even without ever having seen her penmanship, he knew it was from her.

Reading it was the last thing he wanted to do – other than entering his bedchamber – but he couldn’t allow himself to delay possibly vital information.

‘ _Archmage Rommath, please forgive my unthinking intrusion this morning. I have come to realise that you were likely seeking solitude. I am grateful for your candid advice and honesty. I understand that we are unlikely to spend much time together in the future, but I will always think of you as a friend. Yours thankfully, Jaina Proudmoore’_

Rommath realised he was frowning. ‘I will always think of you as a friend’ – mere politeness or coded message? Had Proudmoore guessed his secret? Was this missive intended to put him at ease? He would only ever know for sure if she one day confronted him or used it against him, as unlikely as that seemed. He could never ask – _would_ never ask. Draw no attention, seek no attention. He would pretend nothing had happened.

If only he were able to do that with his bedchamber.

Renting a room in an inn had crossed his mind, but he refused to be weak, refused to run away. In truth he wanted to flee Dalaran altogether, return to Silvermoon and recuperate amidst its gleaming white stone and towering spires, return to a period in his life where he didn’t feel sick when he thought of his best friend. But he would not run. Would not cower. Would not cry.

When he looked at his neatly-made bed, though, by candlelight, he wanted to vomit. The flickering shadows made him dizzy. The sharp scent of cleaning products made his head pound. His skin crawled as he became too aware of his body, of his heartbeat, his breathing, the parts of him that had been violated.

In the doorway he blew out the candle. Shut the door. Trod the floorboards to the overstuffed living room sofa. Sank down. He couldn’t sleep in that bed again, no matter how pitiful it made him.

With a snap of his fingers he ignited a gentle flame in the fireplace. The warmth was more than welcome, and the crackling was comforting, like the thick blanket he wrapped around himself, plush and heavy, almost like a hug. Ever the opportunist, his cat jumped into his lap as soon as he sagged back against the cushions, purring as he wearily carded his fingers through her fur.

He had never truly had a drink, but he knew that he wanted one. That was what you did with sorrows: you drowned them, or smoked them, or fucked them away. What did one do when all of those paths were barred? He could eat, but nausea had followed him all day like a miasma in his gut; he could bathe, pamper himself with bubbles and lotions, but he desperately did not want to be reminded that he was in possession of a body.

Oblivion, then. Sleep. Warmth. The crackle of a fire, the purr of a cat. He would close his eyes and trust that he would feel less wretched in the morning.

He wouldn’t, he knew, but pretending was all he had.


	10. Chapter 10

Rommath didn’t feel better, of course. Not the next day, nor any of the three weeks following. Time passed in a joyless murk: fitful sleep on his sofa, experiments that failed when his attention invariably wandered, conversations with friends that he was never fully present for. And always, always worry, the kind that Kael would have termed ‘brooding’. 

He made furtive trips to the largest of Dalaran’s libraries in the very dead of night. The information he sought would be ruinous if anyone saw him with it: methods of pregnancy detection, and pregnancy in male omegas. The former was easily available; he memorised the potion ingredients to avoid committing his trouble to paper. He would have to wait another week before the potion would give an accurate reading, but what was one more week of suffering? Besides, it would take him that long to gather the necessary items without suspicion.

General omega pregnancy information was plentiful, of course, and he learned of the factors working for and against him: pregnancy was least likely during a first heat, and less likely if the omega was heavily stressed before, during and after, since they likely did not have a supportive alpha; but it was more likely if intercourse happened during the first few days of heat, and if the effects of the heat were particularly strong. Had this been his first heat, or had the one he had halted all those years ago counted still? It vexed him to lack the knowledge. And the knowledge most especially lacking was _anything_ to do with male omega pregnancy. It was as though it didn’t exist.

Rommath had huffed quietly to himself by magelight at that thought. He knew that it happened, had seen it himself, had overheard it being discussed in derisive tones by countless alphas, so clearly it was merely a topic that nobody had seen fit to research. Certainly not in Dalaran... though it then struck him that Dalaran, a primarily human city, didn’t _have_ male omegas. Not unless some other poor quel’dorei bastard was masquerading like Rommath. Only the high elves and their ancestors had male omegas. The libraries of Silvermoon would be his best bet.

A dangerous bet, though. As strongly as his curiosity burned, he decided he would only take the risk if the potion confirmed his fears. If he _was_ pregnant, he would have to learn absolutely everything there was to know, for he had decided early on that he could not abort the children of Kael’thas Sunstrider. If it had been anybody else he would have had no hesitation in purging them, but Kael’thas... 

Rommath loved him still, ardent and burning, and if he couldn’t have the man, he could at least have his pups and have a part of him always. And, though it shamed him to admit it, this might be his only opportunity to ever have children, and, once contemplated, his omega instincts would not let it go.

How he could possibly live afterwards he did not know, and he was angry with himself for failing to come up with a substantial plan, but he was strong in his conviction that he would _make_ it work, that he would not flee from danger.

_Impossible is only what we allow it to be._

He would find a way through, like he always had. He was resourceful. He was an omega walking amongst alphas. _Nothing_ could hold him back.

But as he furtively scoured the library night after night, he still felt small and alone.

 

* * *

 

Kael’thas considered his wine, a faint smile playing over his lips. Over cake and hot chocolate, Jaina had been bombarding him with questions like she were interviewing him; all she was missing was a clipboard. What was his opinion on the roles of an omega in a marriage? Did he think it appropriate for an omega to study after marriage? What did Quel’thalas expect of its princesses?

They both spoke in hypotheticals, of course, but Jaina gave no regard to subtlety; she was clearly a woman on a mission, and that mission was to determine whether Kael’thas Sunstrider would make a suitable mate. And so far, Kael was sure, he had ticked all the right boxes.

Before she had come to Dalaran, Kael had scoffed, it was true. He had voted to allow her to study, but only because he had expected her to fail and put the issue to rest. Meeting her, though, witnessing her powers growing, her strength and dedication and _joy_ , had been deeply humbling. He was not often wrong, but he could admit it when he was: Jaina Proudmoore was a marvel who would change the world. And he would do _anything_ to be by her side as she did so. The king, the court, the magisters, all would push back, would try to forbid him from marrying a human omega sorceress, but the only person in the world more stubborn than Kael was Rommath.

Rommath... better not to think about him now, not in a sunlit cafe waiting for Jaina to return from refreshing herself. Too much unease, too much frustration. It had been four weeks since they had last spoken, tense and awful in Rommath’s living room, and Kael was not used to waiting, not used to being treated like a wrongdoer. Rommath had never dealt well with embarrassment, but this was excessive – nearly a whole month spent brooding! Perhaps he should visit him again, insist on settling the matter. 

But that was a thought for another time. Right now Jaina deserved all of his attention. That strange night with Rommath seemed inconsequential when treated to her sunny smile, when appreciating the adorable way her lips quirked when she was considering exactly how to phrase a question. She was so lovely, so genuine. Whenever her attention was on him he felt like a king – that he could really _be_ one one day with her by his side. It had never seemed real before, succeeding his father. He didn’t _want_ it to be real.

What also didn’t seem real was the heated way Astalor Sunsworn was striding towards him, his body language almost completely alien on his normally self-possessed frame.

“What have you done to Rommath?” Astalor demanded, ears and brows like knives. If he had been an alpha Kael might have choked on the scent of his anger.

“I beg your pardon?”

Astalor slammed a palm on the table, rattling the plates and cups, threatening to topple Kael’s wine glass. “I _said_ , what have you done to Rommath?” he growled, just as Jaina returned to the table, concern written large on her face.

Kael stood to face Astalor, intending his height and broad shoulders to cow him. How dare he make a scene here, now, just as he was finally winning Jaina over?

“This is a civilised cafe, for civilised people.” Kael flashed a look of apology to Jaina, who was hovering by her seat, flustered and unsure. “If you have a grievance with me, state it decorously and in private... though I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve always been a pompous bastard,” Astalor hissed furiously. “I don’t know _what_ you’ve done, but I know you’ve done _something_. I spent a month back in Silvermoon, and now that I’ve returned he’s a _shell_. He’s not eating, he’s not sleeping, and Light knows he was never good at either to begin with. He’s gone from talking about you all the time to looking sick when anyone mentions you. He claims nothing’s wrong, but he’s _lying_.”

Relief and disgust warred in Kael’s gut. Relief that Rommath hadn’t spoken of the incident, disgust that he felt that relief.

_He said I violated him, but I didn’t... did I?_

“And you’re his self-appointed guardian? I’m sure he’d be thrilled to hear you’re publicly harassing me in the name of defending his honour.”

“Weasel words from a weasel prince. _What_ did you _do_ to him?”

“I’m... just... going to leave you boys to it...” Jaina said, cringing as she shouldered her bag and stepped around Astalor. “Thank you for the chocolate, Kael, I’m sure I’ll see you another time.”

“Jaina, wait, please –”

But Jaina was gone, and quite possibly his marriage prospects too.

Kael growled and made to follow her, to apologise, but Astalor grabbed his arm with a strength that surprised him.

“What did you do to Rommath?!” It almost sounded like Astalor was begging now, his grip on Kael’s arm desperate rather than livid.

Kael laughed, an ugly thing, on edge and vicious. “You’re in love with him,” he declared, knowing it to be true as he spoke. “You’re in love with him and you can’t stand not knowing his secrets, can’t bear not being his saviour... can’t face that it’s _me_ he loves, me who knows more about him than you ever will.”

Kael felt giddy, out of control. Astalor had ruined Kael’s relationship, so Kael would ruin his in return. The words spewed from a deep, dark place inside him, dripping with poison and bile.

Astalor’s nostrils flared in and out as he held himself back from punching Prince Kael’thas Sunstrider in a public cafe.

“I’m _not_ in love with him,” Astalor hissed, ears flushed and agitated. “He’s my best friend. And he tells me everything.”

“He clearly doesn’t, since you’re here ruining my day with your pathetic accusations and even more pathetic denials.” Kael brushed Astalor’s now-limp hand off his arm and stared him down. “He doesn’t belong to you, Astalor. Leave me alone, leave _him_ alone, and stop fawning after him like a love-sick omega.”

Astalor gaped at him, much like Rommath had on that terrible morning after they had slept together, and Kael wondered if, perhaps, he had gone too far again. Was it possible to go too far when Astalor might have ruined his future with Jaina? He was angry, so angry. But that _look_ , so incredulous, so wounded. Astalor and Rommath looked nothing alike, but all Kael could see was Rommath’s face, eyes and lips bleeding betrayal and sorrow. 

_If I hadn’t hurt Rommath, none of this would have happened_.

“Astalor, I’m –”

“ _Fuck you_. You arrogant _bastard_. No wonder he looks sick at the thought of you. ” 

Astalor was clearly wrestling with saying more, but he settled for a glare that was shocking in its hatred, filled with daggers and poison. He gave Kael a half-hearted shove and then, like Jaina, like Rommath, he too was gone.

There was no pride in this, no victory. Only shame. Rommath looked _sick_ at the thought of him? That was far beyond mere embarrassment. And Astalor? He had always been more Rommath’s friend, and it had always been clear that Astalor vaguely disapproved of him, but they had spent centuries in each other’s company, sharing triumphs and sorrows. It wasn’t Astalor’s fault that Rommath was wounded, that he cared for him – loved him. Kael had been cruel in the speaking of it, but the truth remained.

And, perhaps, another truth: ‘ _it’s_ me _he loves_ ’. It had surged out of Kael’s subconscious like a blade, intending to wound, nothing more, but... 

‘ _I need you. I dreamed you’d come..._ ’

_Oh, Rommath._

Kael drained the last of his wine, now bitter on his tongue, and then strode out of the cafe, shoulders straight, back tall, as though he hadn’t been at all affected by the altercation. People were staring, he was sure, had been staring the whole time, but what did he care? He was Kael’thas Sunstrider, and he was a man on a mission. He would mend this.

All he needed was a new perspective.

 

* * *

 

“Thank you for meeting me at such short notice,” Kael said, giving his cousin a small nod of approval as they eased themselves into chairs in one of Kael’s Sunfury Spire reception rooms. He only trusted one man with this secret – Rommath’s secret – and Lor’themar Theron was both trustworthy and an omega rights supporter. Kael had always found this eccentric, but his years with Jaina were making him wonder if perhaps Lor’themar was right.

“Of course, your highness.” Lor’themar sat at attention, hands spread on his thighs. Slightly rumpled, his well-tailored ranger-lord’s uniform had clearly been donned in haste.

“Oh, none of that,” Kael said. “You always call me Kael after a few drinks anyway, so start now.” He sighed. “I’ll be skipping the wine, I need a clear head today.”

“Then this _must_ be serious.”

Lor’themar’s wry tone relaxed Kael, strengthened the feeling that he had been right to come here. Cousins by marriage (Lor’themar’s family had married his alpha father to a Sunstrider beta in exchange for the wealth and title that accompanied her), Lor’themar and Kael were not close, had not grown up together, but they met frequently at the parties Kael loved and Lor’themar hated, and they had, if not warmth, then a certain measure of respect for each other. They would smoke together at the end of the night if neither of them had found a partner to take to bed. They had a bond of sorts.

“I think it’s likely the worst thing I have ever done.” Kael gave a self-deprecating smile, trying to keep the atmosphere light. He wasn’t here to wallow, he was here to _understand_. “Before you can judge for yourself, however, I need your word that nothing we speak of today will ever leave this room.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“More tightly even than normal,” Kael exhorted him. “My friend’s... my friend’s life is at stake.” He bit his lip. Uncertainty fluttered in his gut. _Should_ he have come here? If anyone discovered Rommath’s secret he would be worse than ruined.

Lor’themar pursed his lips, raised a brow. Finally, after considering this, he said, “On my honour as a ranger-lord of Quel’thalas, your friend’s life and everything you tell me is safe with me.” He finished with a Farstrider salute, which should have been ridiculous in this sumptuous room, seated in a plush chair, addressing the crown prince, but performed by Lor’themar it was a symbol of integrity, something Kael could believe in.

He sagged, relieved. And then steeled himself to tell his tale.

 

* * *

 

“And I haven’t seen him since,” Kael said, not deigning to hide his misery. “I’ve heard he’s not eating, not sleeping... please, you must explain what I’ve done, and how I can mend this.”

Kael closed his eyes, tired and ashamed. Until a few hours ago he’d been convinced that he’d committed no wrongdoings, but the niggling feeling after talking to Astalor, and then the look on Lor’themar’s face as the story unravelled, confirmed that he had hurt Rommath more than he’d realised, even if he didn’t understand why.

 _I should have believed you,_ he thought, wishing, almost, that Rommath could feel it. _I should have listened._

Lor’themar took a deep breath in through his nose – bold and strong, so unlike Kael’s – and looked like he wanted nothing so much as to put his face in his hands. Instead, though, he looked Kael straight in the eye and asked: “How frank would you like me to be, your highness?”

“Kael, and as frank as it gets. _Please_. Speak to me like a man, not a prince. I need to learn. I need to _understand_.”

Lor’themar treated him to a wry smile. “A good start. Understanding is the foundation of all things, especially friendships.” He pursed his lips. “And before we speak of such things as desire and consent, I would give you my word again that I will protect your friend’s secret.”

“ _Thank you_ ,” Kael said, passion and gratitude giving his voice the slightest of tremors. This was a safe place, wasn’t it? It was okay to be honest here, to be vulnerable. “I love him, Lor’themar. I do not know exactly how, and perhaps not in the way he might wish for, but I love him.”

“It shows.” Lor’themar gave him a small, genuine smile, with a mouth that was too wide to be handsome but somehow managed to be anyway. A kind mouth. A trustworthy mouth. 

“As requested, I will be honest: your friend was not wrong when he said that you violated him.” 

A devastating mouth.

Kael’s heart jittered; he feared he would be sick. “He begged for me,” he whispered. “He begged and pleaded and presented himself to me. How? How can this be? I have never seen or scented an omega so desperate.”

Lor’themar closed his eyes for a moment, granting Kael a brief reprieve from his shrewd gaze. It returned far too swiftly, warm and brown but also painfully decisive. “Desperation is the fulcrum here,” he said. “He is the same age as you, your friend?”

Kael nodded.

“If you have only now discovered his secret, I would wager that he has been suppressing his heats since he first presented. Two centuries of denying his body what it needs! He likely miscalculated this time, since you found him suffering in his bed. If he had _wanted_ sex he would have sought it.”

“But he was begging,” Kael whispered again.

“Has your body ever overridden your wishes? Have you ever had to stop something enjoyable in order to eat or sleep? Have you ever been physically aroused by someone you did not like? Much of the time the body and soul align in their goals, but not always. And a heat denied for centuries... well. Your friend did not want it, but he was at its mercy regardless.” Lor’themar’s ears and cheeks had flushed; he reached for his glass and took a long gulp before resuming.

“In two hundred years he didn’t once approach you as an omega. He clearly did not want you to know, even though it does sound as though he might love you like an omega loves an alpha. He made his choice, and his unwanted heat stripped him of it.”

Kael took a shaky breath. “... _I_ stripped him of it.” However much he wiped them, his palms would not stop sweating.

Lor’themar bit his lip. “An unfortunate way of putting it, perhaps.”

“He was so scared of me the morning after,” Kael said hoarsely. “Like he thought I would hurt him.”

“Omegas lack the strength of alphas. Your friend likely couldn’t have prevented you from forcing him if you’d had a mind to.”

“That’s preposterous! He’s always been strong, he’s passed as an alpha for centuries!”

“I’m sure he’s trained very hard for that. The omegas under my care in the Farstriders were the same, training longer and harder than anyone... but they still weren’t as strong as even the most indolent of alphas. Which was tragically confirmed when many of them were brutally raped by the alphas who were supposed to be their scouting partners.” Lor’themar’s voice trembled slightly; the tendons of his hands stood out as his hands gripped his knees.

“The rulers of Quel’thalas believe that alphas cannot help themselves. They blamed those omegas for tempting their partners, and blamed me for being soft on them. ‘Omegas have no place in the Farstriders’. I find this offensive. Alphas can be better, should be better. _Must_ be better. Being an alpha is a responsibility, not a right. We have a duty to tend, not to take. Omegas shouldn’t live in fear of us – and they absolutely do. Through strength we assert power. Through sex we assert dominance. No alpha should take what isn’t offered... and every alpha should learn to recognise what an offer _is_.”

“And this was not an offer.”

“No. It was his mind taken hostage.”

 _Oh, Rommath_.

“How do I... how do I do better, though? I couldn’t help myself – he _needed_ me.” Kael flushed. “I’ve never gone into rut so strongly before.”

“It is difficult,” Lor’themar agreed. “Nature does not much care for the individual wants of her creatures. But _we_ do. As civilised men, _we_ do. Ruts can be controlled. I’ve found that removing myself from the situation and taking matters into my own two hands is largely sufficient if I am uncertain of an omega’s desires. Sex is not an inevitability – we are more in charge of ourselves than we give ourselves credit for. We are more in charge of ourselves than we, as alphas, would like to _admit_. An omega in heat is intoxicating” – he paused for a moment – “but it is our duty to _care_ for them. And sometimes that means leaving them alone.”

“My friend – I understand my friend. If I had mastered myself, had given the situation a modicum of thought, I would have realised that he... that he didn’t want it.” How could admitting that feel both freeing _and_ wretched? “But others – how are we supposed to know their mind’s desire?”

Lor’themar gave a wry smile. “Largely by asking them. Though in such cases as heats I would err on the side of caution outside an established relationship. The same for large amounts of drink or thistle. I imagine your friend partakes of neither, to keep a clear head.”

Kael was about to contradict this, but paused. “I think you’re right,” he said, considering. “I suspect he’s been acting for a very long time.” It should have felt like a betrayal, but he just felt sad. Weary.

_Rommath, I’m sorry you didn’t feel you could confide in me._

“It’s remarkable, how long he’s managed. Your friend must be very strong-willed.”

Kael managed a small but genuine laugh. “You have no idea.”

“I knew some similar in the Farstriders, before... before. But none who could make themselves smell like an alpha.” Lor’themar stroked his neat little beard. “I should like to meet him someday, though of course I shall not. Like I have said, his secret is safe with me.”

Kael nodded, thankful, and then grimaced. “How do I apologise? He will not speak to me.”

“That I cannot advise. You can wait for him to come to you, which is normally what I would suggest, but I think if you are open and honest and humble he might consider your words. Though he may not, and you have no right to demand it of him. You may not have realised what you were doing, but it still happened. He is still wounded. You know better than I which might be more effective.”

Lor’themar stood. “You have a good heart, Kael.”

Kael rose with him, and they shook hands. Lor’themar then pulled him into a single-armed embrace.

“I have duties to which I must return, but I would be glad to furnish you with advice should you need it again.”

Kael briefly touched his forehead against Lor’themar’s, a very intimate thank you.

Lor’themar was almost out of the room when he stopped and turned suddenly. “Oh, and Kael?”

“Mmm?”

Lor’themar strode back to him. “Something to think on.” He knelt, absurdly, on the carpet, and braced his elbow on the elegant varnished coffee table.

Confused for a moment, Kael realised he was being challenged to, of all things, an arm-wrestling match.

“As you wish,” he said, also kneeling, grasping Lor’themar’s hand, “though I don’t see why –”

 _Thunk_. 

“We are both alphas,” Lor’themar said, deliberately looking at Kael instead of Kael’s arm flat on the table, “but our strength is not equal. And no matter how much an omega trains, the difference between alphas and omegas is magnitudes larger than this. Be aware of your strength, and how betas and omegas might see it.” 

He stood, bowed, and was gone before Kael could process what had happened.

 

* * *

 

Five minutes until the potion was ready. The last time Rommath had been this anxious about alchemy had been when he was twelve, back when it had all started. And at this moment, nothing felt much different. He was taller and stronger, more accomplished, more powerful, but the sick, weak nerves were exactly as they had been as a child. He was disappointed in himself for this, but he had been disappointed in himself for many things, so what was one more?

Besides, disappointment was inevitable when one was brewing a pregnancy test alone and in such ignominious circumstances. He would have to piss in it when it had finished brewing, and wasn’t _that_ just the perfect metaphor for everything that had happened this past month. 

Gallows humour for the man with a noose already around his neck.

A bang at the door nearly made him knock his glassware over.

Did nobody have a sense of proper timing anymore? Must everyone insist on accosting him at his lowest moments? He would ignore it – if it was Kael he did _not_ want to speak to him at this of all times. Rommath had been humiliated enough already.

The banging came again though, louder, and then again, and he came to the resentful conclusion that he would rather have peace and quiet while processing what would become of his future. He shut rather than slammed the door to his workshop – rattling the equipment would just anger him further – and stalked across the floorboards of the living room.

“ _What_?” he demanded as he yanked the front door open. His heart skipped a beat as he took in blond hair, blue eyes. But no, this wasn’t Kael, it was Astalor – shorter, slighter, softer, though not soft today, no, not soft today. Agitation possessed him, too much energy in too small a space. Nervous energy, disordered energy.

“We need to talk.”

“Now isn’t a good time,” Rommath said, agitated himself.

“Is it ever a good time, with you?”

Rommath had been evasive lately, that was true, but he was damned if he was going to be needled into justifying himself.

“State your grievance, Astalor. I’ve had a long, long day, and I haven’t much left in me for petty arguments.”

“Is our friendship petty?”

Rommath closed his eyes. Whatever was happening, this was clearly not a doorstep conversation.

“If you’re going to insist on being insufferably oblique, I should at least have coffee while I endure it,” he said, striding off to brew a fresh pot, leaving Astalor to enter and close the door behind him.

The bitter, clean scent of the grounds cleared Rommath’s head somewhat. Being piqued was not going to improve Astalor’s mood, and it was rare indeed that his friend was ever so confrontational. Rommath would have to be generous to navigate this. He could manage that for Astalor’s sake, surely.

“You are unhappy,” he said, committing to neither a question nor a statement. “Tell me and I will listen.”

Astalor had clearly expected him to be combative; he sank into an armchair and deflated somewhat, letting the cushions bear some of his tension.

“I am the third wheel,” he said wearily, “to you and Kael.”

“What?” Rommath nearly scalded himself.

“I have been ever since you met him. You share your secrets with him, but not with me.”

Rommath relaxed, though only enough to resume breathing. “My secrets are my own,” he declared. “They are neither currency nor boon. I do not privilege Kael above you.” 

Rommath offered Astalor an arch smile as he presented him with his coffee. “Cream and three sugars; disgusting, as always.” Astalor treated him to a wan smile in return. Clearly his attempt at levity had been found wanting.

“Kael claims differently,” Astalor said, looking at Rommath and then down at his cup.

“Kael cannot fathom not being the centre of everyone’s world,” Rommath said, inwardly deriding his own dishonesty. _He is –_ was _– the centre of mine._

“So he is mistaken?”

“Astalor, I assure you, I have not been plying Kael with secrets. There is no one I trust more than you. I am merely a private man.”

“So Kael knows nothing important about you that I do not know?”

Rommath hesitated. He should have lied, but he couldn’t, not to Astalor.

“He knows what’s wrong with you, doesn’t he.” Astalor was quiet. Rommath wished he would be loud, be angry. Anger got his blood up; calm brought dread.

“Not by any choice of mine.” Rommath’s coffee cup clinked against his saucer as his fingers twitched. “He intruded during a time of weakness.” He needed more, needed to give Astalor something. “If I had wanted to tell anyone, it would have been you.”

“So why not tell me?” Astalor’s voice was soft, fragile. “Is this why you have been upset with him? Has he reacted poorly?”

“‘Poorly’ isn’t the word.”

Astalor frowned, set down his cup. “Fuck him. I would never treat you like that. You know that, right? I love you.”

“And I, you.” And he did. Not in the way he loved Kael, but a brotherly love. One of his deepest bonds.

“Tell me, Rommath. Share your burden.”

He had considered it countless times. He had wanted so badly to have somebody know and accept him. His mother had known but he hadn’t experienced her acceptance until after her death. Kael now knew but had fucked him, insulted him. What would it be like to have calm, mindful Astalor know him for exactly who he was? To perhaps be embraced, be loved, with no ulterior motives?

“I can’t,” he whispered. There was no world in which he could admit this weakness, no world in which he could confess that it was not long until he discovered whether he was pregnant with Kael’s child. The humiliation would be too much to bear. After Kael, all Rommath had left was his pride.

“Whatever it is, I will support you. I promised your mother long ago, and I promise you now.”

“I can’t,” Rommath said hoarsely, staring unseeing at his coffee.

“Do you not trust me?”

“I can’t!” A terrible half-cry, half-sob, it impacted on the room like an explosion, leaving everything deathly still in its wake.

Rommath could not look up. Could not breathe. The slightest movement and he knew he would disintegrate.

“That’s how it is, then,” Astalor said into the desolation. It sounded like he was rising. “I love you, Rommath, but until you learn to trust me, we cannot be friends. Not anymore. I can’t continue to play second fiddle to Kael while you take me for granted.”

 _Tell him. ‘I am an omega. Please sit with me while I take this test.’_ Two sentences. Thirteen words. It would be so easy. He wouldn’t be alone anymore. A burden would be lifted.

“I can’t,” he whispered, horrified at his pride, his cowardice, the moisture that was blurring his eyes.

Footsteps on the floorboards. The front door opening and closing softly. 

Silence.

Silence.

By the time Rommath stirred, his coffee was cold.

His potion, though, was ready. Astalor hadn’t visited for long enough to have reduced its potency. He wouldn’t have to waste ingredients. That was good.

The numbness didn’t alleviate the crawling feeling of dysphoria as he pulled his penis out to urinate into a pregnancy test. Reality was twisted, his life at right-angles. In another life, his proper life, he would have had a wife now. A family. He would be the proud husband, not the shaking freak. 

And he was shaking, as he waited for the potion to turn red or blue.

Red for negative, blue for a baby.

He forced himself to sit down, to look at the wall instead of watching the beaker. Five minutes; it wouldn’t be accurate until exactly five minutes had passed. Five minutes to wait after five weeks of worrying.

And now that he was here, he didn’t even know what he was hoping for anymore. It was ridiculous, absurd, but the longer he’d lived with the possibility, the more the soft, weak omega part of him wanted it, wanted to grow round with Kael’s pups and raise his little blond children. It was a deep, primal desire that frightened and aroused him in equal measure. A fantasy that couldn’t possibly have a happy ending.

Omegas were stunningly fecund: over half their pregnancies consisted of at least two children, hence ‘pups’, a relic from their troll ancestors that had made it all the way across the ocean. One child would be difficult; two would be exhausting. Rommath could not feed them – he would have to find a wet nurse who wouldn’t ask questions. The pups would look like Kael, so he would have to leave Dalaran, would have to leave Quel’thalas. Unless he told Kael...

But that might be even worse. If Anasterian discovered that Kael had fathered bastard children on a male omega he would likely have them killed to prevent blackmail and shame. Rommath couldn’t let that happen. Anything of Kael’s was precious, and he felt his fingers curl into claws at the thought of harm coming to his children. Their children.

Revulsion crept over him as he realised he was fantasising about the man who had violated him. It hadn’t been that simple – had it? – but he felt as though he was betraying himself. He wasn’t supposed to want this at all, and he wasn’t supposed to want this with _Kael_. He didn’t even know what he did want, not really. He felt numb but also out of control, sitting on this stool, staring at the wall, listening to the clock tick. What a terrible sound. He would take it down once this was done. He never wanted to hear it again. 

_Tick._

He took a deep breath.

_Tock._

Turned.

_Tick._

Red.

_Tock._

It was _red_. He was free. He was dizzy. He was mourning and frightened and relieved. He had not put much thought into this possibility, but as he stood, as he looked up at the clock, he knew what his next step must be.

 

* * *

 

Full of nervous energy, Kael swiped his hair away from his face one last time and forced himself to knock on Rommath’s door. Not too loud, not too soft; a confident knock, a friendly knock. Rommath did not look kindly on knocking in general, but this one had always elicited Kael the best response.

When none was forthcoming, however, he knocked again, and then again.

It was possible that Rommath had gone out, but Kael had checked all of his usual haunts – including the far reaches of the library – before coming here. It was more likely that he knew it was Kael and just didn’t want to answer. And that was, to a newly-educated Kael, uncomfortably understandable, but he was here to _apologise._ He was here to make things _right_. If Rommath was as miserable as Astalor said, then surely he missed him? Wanted their friendship made whole again?

He knelt to call through the cat flap.

The cat flap wasn’t there.

Just smooth, perfect wood, as though nothing had been there at all.

Kael banged on the door again, though the sick feeling spreading through his chest told him it would be no use. He knew it even as he picked the lock like he had on the terrible day that had started all of this.

He knew the apartment would be empty. Knew it. But it was still a shock to look upon it, a home no longer a home. Decades of memories deconstructed, packed away. Nothing left, not even a glossy black hair on the floor.

Like Jaina, like Astalor, Rommath was gone.


	11. Chapter 11

Rommath had never truly imagined returning to Silvermoon. He had long seen it as the terminus of his life’s story, the point at which he would no longer have the excuse of being the prince’s companion to shield him from his duties as the only son of a noble house. Duties which, when shamefully unfulfilled, would reveal him for the aberrant freak of nature he had always been. Once Kael took up the crown, Rommath would have considered his life’s calling concluded. There was no place in Quel’thalas for a male omega who refused to be a whore, and Rommath would rather die.

Now that he had returned alone, still alive, duty to his prince as yet undischarged, Rommath was at a loss. Nobody in Silvermoon was yet aware of his arrival, so he had time to plan. The difficulty was _how_. Whatever he turned his mind to, wherever he was while doing so, he could see no way of escaping his father’s expectations for marriage. Rommath was no longer the prince’s companion, no longer a world away in Dalaran.

Pacing his room – a short-term rental in a quiet part of town – was not providing solutions. Petting Kim’dal was similarly unhelpful. Frustrated, exhausted, Rommath’s mind had ground to a halt. The past few days had been too much for a single man to handle. He needed kindness, a friendly face, a warm body touching his own in some capacity. But he had never been so alone. Astalor was gone. The thought of Kael made him feel sick. The only person he could possibly confide in was Jaina Proudmoore, and, again, he would rather die.

 _It might yet come to that,_ he thought bitterly, despairing of his pride and his reality. He would have to go it alone, as he had always thought he would before Kael.

 _Kael_. 

Rommath was going to have to face his discomfort sooner rather than later, if only for the shameful fact that his body was crying out for relief, his needs untended to since the night that had shattered their friendship. Trying to touch himself a while after had induced such shame and dysphoria that he hadn’t attempted it since. He was waking up sticky almost every night, and all the dreams he could remember recently had left him flushed and resentful.

Planning his future would be easier if he were less pent-up, less on edge. How could he stride into the next phase of his life while allowing the old one to still dig its claws into him? He would conquer this weakness just like all the others.

After ushering Kim’dal out of the window with a meaningful look, Rommath drew the curtains, refreshed the room’s scent-blocking spell, and ensured that the door was secured. Settling himself on the bed without yet divesting himself of his clothes, he closed his eyes and forced himself to concentrate on his breathing, on existing in the moment. He had never felt comfortable in his body, but this was a new low, and one that deserved to be fought.

Kael had called him a knot slut, an uptight bitch, had robbed him of control and forced him to dwell on the uncomfortable reality of his biology. Perhaps he could reclaim some of that. He wasn’t yet ready to confront his feelings about pregnancy or lack thereof, but he could make an effort to take back his sexuality on his own terms.

To begin, he would not think about Kael. Two hundred years of fantasies had gouged a deep rut in his mind, in his nerves, but he could forge onwards to make new paths, ones entirely of his own choosing.

So: what did he desire? _Whom_ did he desire? There had only ever been Kael, but... no, there had been one other. The mysterious alpha whose mere scent made Rommath’s chest heave and his cock stir. He had always been bitter about their effect on him, but today he could make them his, use them as a tool like alphas so often did omegas.

With no knowledge of anything but their masculine scent, Rommath decided he would construct his picture of the mystery alpha to be the opposite of Kael. Dark hair, dark eyes, strong features. A deep voice, a rugged bearing. Cultured, but less refined than Kael. Facial hair that would rasp against his skin as he was being ravished.

And this alpha – his alpha – _would_ ravish him, at Rommath’s behest, at Rommath’s provocation. They would meet at a masquerade ball, perhaps, Rommath withdrawing upon scenting him, his alpha following as he scents Rommath in turn, Rommath’s blockers unable to withstand such an attraction. Rommath would seek out an unused chamber far away from the crowds in order to reapply his scent blockers and gather himself. 

On the threshold a sultry voice behind him would enquire if he wishes for company. 

The voice sends warmth to his ears, his neck, his groin. He _aches_ with desire, and as he turns to respond Rommath finds himself jutting his jaw and asking what the man’s company could possibly provide for him. 

The stranger’s dark eyes flash and he smiles as wolfishly as his domino mask, a grey wolf to Rommath’s black cat. “Allow me the opportunity to please you,” he says, “and if I should fail, you may dismiss me with but a word.”

“Who says I wish to be pleased?” Rommath says archly, though his voice is husky and his eyes are shining.

“Every inch of you,” the stranger rumbles, stepping into Rommath’s personal space, taking the outrageous liberty of trailing a hand over his jaw and down his neck. “Your scent begs for me. Your hips are canted in readiness. Your neck is as flushed as though I’ve just brought you to orgasm. And I will,” he murmurs into Rommath’s ear, “if you’ll but indulge me.”

Rommath purses his lips, looks up at his alpha appraisingly. “I will grant you an audition. Impress me and I might allow you to try.”

“What are the parameters of this audition?”

“You will have to use your judgment,” Rommath says, feeling powerful in his flirtation. The stranger is just as undone by Rommath’s scent as Rommath is by his, and Rommath has two hundred years of control while this alpha almost certainly does not.

The stranger kicks the door closed behind him, not leaving Rommath’s space. He wets his lips and presses a kiss to Rommath’s mouth, unexpectedly gentle. Rommath finds himself yearning for something harder, something fiercer, but realises that that is exactly what the man in the wolf mask is banking on. He wants to stoke Rommath’s desire to a smouldering inferno, to leave him light-headed and pliable.

But Rommath will not be so easy. If he were another omega his inexperience might be his undoing in the face of such intense, primal pheromones, in the face of kisses that have migrated to his jaw, to his neck, but Rommath’s will is as diamond-hard as the erection pressing brazenly up against his belly, alpha-huge and already damp at the tip. He wants to grasp it, lick it, swallow it right to the hilt... but he merely tilts his chin, allowing the alpha better opportunity to please him.

This is a miscalculation, however. The alpha is parting the collar of Rommath’s robes and taking the lifting of his chin as invitation to mouth at the scent glands in the hollows of his collar bone. He is careful, respectful, does not suck or bite, but his clever tongue wrenches a soft sound from Rommath’s throat and he shudders against him, wishing for something less gentle.

“I wonder how sensitive the rest of you is,” the stranger purrs, his hand gliding down Rommath’s back to rest suggestively on the scent gland at the base of his spine. He applies gentle pressure, begins rubbing, and to Rommath’s great dismay his own hips are circling back up against the alpha’s strong palm, the pleasure too great to deny. The alpha resumes licking and kissing the glands on his neck, continues to rub just above his buttocks. A shuddering gasp escapes from Rommath; he realises he is resting some of his weight against the alpha’s sturdy frame and he is losing control of the situation.

Wrenching himself away, Rommath says, “You have adequately passed the first stage.” His purposeful walk over to the bed is marred by unsteady legs but he manages to arrange himself regally upon it anyway, inviting but dangerous, like the black cat of his domino mask. Their masks hide little, but conceal just enough to allow Rommath to pretend that this encounter is anonymous.

The alpha bows deeply from the waist. When he straightens, his wide mouth is set in a smile just on the right side of sly. “You honour me.” Loosening his cravat, he ambles over to the bed, gaze lingering on Rommath’s slightly parted legs, visible beneath the fabric of his robes. Rommath’s cock is no alpha’s, but it stands proud nonetheless, straining against the delicate mageweave. His underwear is soaked with pre-come and slick, sticky against his skin; Rommath wants to fling it away, fling it all away, but he remains reclining, resplendent, the alpha his supplicant.

His subject takes his time removing his shirt, clearly practiced in giving a show. His chest is broad and powerful; Rommath subconsciously wets his lips. Tan skin, a single scar hinting at danger, a fine, dark line of hair trailing down from between his pectorals all the way to the fastening of his trousers, hinting at what might lie below. The bulge of his cock should be ludicrous, tenting the fabric beyond its capabilities, but alpha clothing is cut with extra slack. Rommath thinks that even this slack might not be enough, though, and he wets his lips again.

It is hard to remain imposing when his alpha lifts his arms to shrug off his sleeves and drops his shirt to the floor. Rommath catches a flash of soft dark hair and a breath of pheromones that leave him almost panting; what will happen to him when the man completely disrobes? Other hair, other pheromones – he feels as though he might fall to his knees in worship.

Before Rommath is tempted enough to do just that, the man in the mask joins him on the bed, only half undressed. Rommath is both relieved and disappointed, and he is beginning to feel agonisingly overdressed. He could remove his own clothing, but to do so would be to admit defeat, and he _will_ triumph in this encounter.

He comes awfully close to failing, though, as his partner settles beside him, the heat of his body feverish against the finespun fabric of Rommath’s robes, the musky scent of his underarms unbearably intense. Rommath wants to lick them, kiss them, bury his face in them and rock against the man’s hard body until he comes, but he will not be so weak.

“Do not rip my robes,” he orders in the tone of a man who isn’t two short seconds away from giving in to his base desires.

“I would not dream of sullying such finery.” The alpha possesses just Rommath’s kind of playful irony; he nods imperiously and allows them to undo buttons with strong, dexterous fingers. His robes fall open to rest by his sides on the bed and he smiles slyly: if the alpha’s pheromones have affected him so badly, then his own will do the same to them, and he is not disappointed – they heave an unsteady sigh and press their nose right into one of his underarms, between the fabric of his sleeve and his skin. They inhale deeply, give a low rumble like bloody thunder, and then they are rolling atop him, tongue seeking entrance to his mouth, one hand caressing his ear obscenely.

Rommath yields gladly, parting his lips with a moan that he can excuse because of the alpha’s indecent fingers. Quel’dorei ears are gloriously sensitive and Rommath’s are no exception. It is almost as intimate as having his cock touched, and oh, how he wishes it was being. The only barrier is his underwear, revealed by his opened robes. His partner must be able to smell how ready Rommath is for him, how hot and slick his ass is. Normally he would be ashamed, but in this fantasy he embraces it, allows himself to enjoy the hollow throb inside and the possibility of it being sated by a thick, immense alpha cock.

To this alpha he is desirable, he is perfection. There is something about the magnetism between them, something primal at work that he will have to consider later, but for now he feels gorgeous, in charge, even as he wraps his legs around his alpha’s waist and draws them ever closer.

They rock together, Rommath sucking on his alpha’s tongue, rubbing a foot against his firm ass. After one especially hard grind his alpha groans into Rommath’s mouth and wrenches himself back, the slightest hint of perspiration glistening along his hairline.

“I must have you,” he declares ardently, his eyes beseeching behind his mask.

Rommath is pleased to have reduced his alpha to this; he murmurs, “Then take me,” and lifts himself up on his elbows to allow the other man to slip his robes off all the way.

They are a tangle of limbs after this, skin against skin, heat against heat. The alpha’s pre-come smears up and down Rommath’s torso; Rommath’s slick drips down his ass, rubs onto the fine hairs of his alpha’s thighs. They pant together, flushed and heaving, eyes bright, pupils dark.

“Wait,” Rommath rasps. He wants this to be entirely different. His alpha pulls back slightly with an enquiring expression and then moves aside as Rommath pushes himself up on his elbows once more. He will _not_ be taken on his back again. Not in this fantasy.

“ _I_ will have _you_ ,” Rommath says. 

His alpha obediently settles on his back, propping his head up with pillows, the better to watch Rommath ride him. He looks up at him with a smirk. “Let down your hair,” he entreats, and Rommath, now straddling his hips, acquiesces, letting clips and chains fall to the sheets, shaking out the gleaming midnight waterfall that hangs to his waist, allowing himself to appear softer, more vulnerable. Nobody ever sees him with his hair loose, but for this one night he will permit it.

“Beautiful,” his alpha breathes, clearly holding himself back from touching Rommath until he is given permission. Rommath looks down at him through heavy lashes and takes his hand, placing it on his cock, allowing his alpha to stroke him, to pleasure him in these last few moments before Rommath mounts him. The hand is warm, strong, reverent, caressing Rommath as though he can’t quite believe he has been granted the privilege of touching such a gorgeous creature.

Feeling radiant, feeling powerful, Rommath waves the hand away and lifts himself up on his knees, sliding the cleft of his ass slowly up and down his alpha’s cock to teasingly lubricate it. As an omega he is slick enough to just take it, but the look on his partner’s face encourages him to keep moving his hips, to show off his body, his sensuality. Their cock throbs against him, hot and urgent, and although it is intimidating it is also impossibly enticing.

When he reaches the apex of his next tease, Rommath decides he has waited long enough. He takes hold of the stranger’s cock, rubs his entrance in a circle against the plump, silky-soft head, and slides slides _slides_ all the way down to the hilt with an open-mouthed moan he is sure can be heard from the ballroom two floors below. He sucks in breath after breath as he sits perfectly still, flush against his alpha’s thighs, fighting not to come right then and there. He is impossibly stretched, impossibly full, and when he manages to open his eyes his alpha is gazing at him with damp, parted lips that beg to be kissed.

Rommath obliges, leaning forwards onto his arms, and he moans into his mouth as their tongues meet and the alpha’s cock shifts with Rommath’s body. Rommath has never ridden anyone before, but in this fantasy his movements are fluid, his pleasure is easy. Still sharing sloppy, open-mouthed kisses, he begins to rock his hips, slowly at first, but soon transitioning to a fast-paced snap that pounds his prostate and stretches his asshole with frantic friction. He does not object when his alpha grabs at his hips and slams up into him on every one of Rommath’s downstrokes.

They are a mess of movement, a symphony of wet, slick sounds and guttural groans. Head spinning, Rommath licks greedily at his alpha’s mouth, wanting more of him, wanting more of everything. He is made for this, for reducing alphas to desperate creatures entirely at his mercy. His body is for _his_ pleasure, so sensitive, so responsive, made for climax after climax.

And, rocking, snapping, he is building towards one, a tight heat in his core, a powerful throbbing deep inside. Pre-come drips down the underside of his cock as it bounces against his stomach, hot slick runs down his thighs. With one final roll of his hips his pleasure crests and his rhythm stutters as his ass clamps down on the thick alpha cock that is still thrusting up inside him, his alpha’s hands still grasping him, pulling him down on every upwards thrust. Thick come splatters onto Rommath’s abdomen, onto his alpha’s chest, his mouth frozen in a silent moan. 

Everything inside him is twitching, contracting, caressing his alpha in the most intimate way possible. It’s far too much, far too good, and as Rommath goes limp, heavy on the mattress, the fantasy fades away.

His real orgasm was not quite so exciting, not quite so explosive, and he was disappointed that he hadn’t lasted long enough for the stranger to knot him, but he felt boneless and satisfied and not completely disgusted with himself – a pleasant surprise.

For a while he lay there, almost drifting into sleep, but his mind wouldn’t quite let him. That was always his problem: an overactive mind. Rommath could never relax like everybody else; he was always alert for danger, forming contingency plans, or just considering his next spell formulations for when he was back in his workshop. And right now, as his semen cooled on his chest and belly, he was turning his feelings over and over like sand in a glass, hoping the grains would disappear if only he turned the hourglass fast enough.

He had not cried. He had not felt ill. This was a victory for sure, but a strange, disquieting one. In his fantasy he had been confident, powerful, had felt like a sexual being in a way he never had before, but was that what he really wanted? It was something that he could _never_ have. Could he replace one impossible fantasy with another? Was that healthy? Was anything he could do healthy? No alpha would allow him the power he had held over his mysterious stranger; Rommath would be left to yearn after yet another unattainable dream.

He _had_ felt powerful, though. Strong, like he was worthy of desire, worthy of respect. He still felt uncomfortable in his skin, a deep weariness and disquiet, but for the first time since Kael he felt like it was possible to enjoy his body again. He could nurture that. His power came from within, not from pretending to be an alpha. There was power in being Rommath, omega, his real self. Could he learn to love that self? To at least accept it? To accept that his hopes and dreams were just as important as his vow to protect Kael? To accept that he had intrinsic worth, not just from what he could do or be for him?

To accept that even as a freak, as a male omega, he was deserving of love, both from others and himself?

The question was too big, too uncomfortable, threatening to bury him. It was too much all at once.

His mind had been working in the background, however, and as he metaphorically pushed his painful questions away under the bed, unforgivably untidy, he pulled out a well-formed plan for how he might proceed with his new life in Silvermoon.

Even though he felt strange and small inside, his heart had somehow grown today. He may not have been an alpha, but demanding one’s dreams was not exclusively theirs.

He may no longer have been in Dalaran, but he was still an Archmage.

Tomorrow he would stand proud, armed with his accomplishments, and seek the advanced apprenticeship he deserved. Rommath would not allow fear to hold him back. 

He was hurting, he was alone, but the only person he truly needed was himself. Magic was enough; Kim’dal was enough; he, himself, was enough.

He would struggle, but he would be victorious.

 _For impossible is only what we allow it to be_.


	12. Chapter 12

As it transpired, Rommath had to do very little seeking at all. Not more than an hour after he had stepped into Sunstrider Spire looking to re-establish contacts for an advanced apprenticeship, he was waylaid by Grand Magister Belo’vir’s private secretary, a willowy beta with neat little glasses in a style Rommath was sure would be the height of fashion in Dalaran next year.

“The Grand Magister would see you at your earliest convenience,” the secretary said, after introducing himself and confirming Rommath’s identity.

And that was how Rommath found himself having tea – _tea!_ – with Grand Magister Belo’vir in his private office, discussing his future.

“I have been following your progress in Dalaran,” Belo’vir said, after dunking a biscuit in his tea, “and I was most excited to hear of your return.” He looked much the same as he had when Rommath had been a teenager: comfortable in his gradual slide towards old age, with a hearty, vigorous solidity. Only the spreading grey at his temples and the deeper lines around his eyes betrayed the passing of the centuries. “I have a proposition for you, if you would hear it.”

“Of course, sir,” Rommath said, straight-backed, hands on knees, too stiff for this seemingly casual interview but unable to relax. This was the office of the _Grand Magister_. His old tutor had ascended to one of the highest positions of power in the kingdom. Rommath felt very much a child again. “I would be honoured.”

“As I’m sure you’re aware, Prince Kael’thas is, let us say, less than eager to return to the Spire and begin preparing for the day he will inevitably ascend the throne. We all hope, of course, that King Anasterian will remain with us for centuries to come, but his health has been ailing of late. Both the King and the Convocation of Silvermoon agree that the Prince should begin his royal education posthaste. 

“However, as I’m sure you’re equally aware, Kael’thas has no intention of leaving Dalaran for the foreseeable future, and the son is as stubborn as the father.” Belo’vir raised his eyebrows conspiratorially. “Absent his presence, I intend to groom a new generation of magisters and courtiers who will be allies to him once he does return. He will need friends amongst those who will be jockeying for favour and power. And he will need responsible, level-headed, _diplomatic_ friends who can advise him through times of need.” 

Belo’vir fixed his gaze firmly on Rommath. 

“Friends like you.”

Rommath managed to keep his face neutral as sorrow stabbed him in the gut. He didn’t know _what_ they were anymore, but he and Kael were not friends, and Rommath was in no position to advise him on anything. He hoped the flick of his ears was taken as interest, not anguish.

“I would serve Prince Kael’thas in any capacity I am able,” he managed to say, hoping once more that the emotion in his voice conveyed dedication and pride rather than guilt and shame.

 _I am a fraud,_ he thought, though even as he did so hope was beginning to lick at his heart like fingers of flame, hot and dangerous. Was this how he could continue to serve Kael while also considering his own needs, his own wants? Kael wouldn’t return from Dalaran for years yet; perhaps by the time he did Rommath would have forgiven him, or at least been able to move on enough to serve as a trusted advisor.

“Good. I had hoped you might say that. I was impressed with you when you were a boy, and you have only impressed me further with each passing year.” Belo’vir put down his teacup, brushed crumbs off his lap, stood. Rommath hastened to stand too, arms clasped behind his back. “I would like to offer you a position as my personal apprentice, with a view to grooming you for the upper ranks of the magisterium. There will be much to learn, the work will be difficult and often dull, and the hours involved will find your social life much curtailed... but if you are up to the challenge, you will be well-rewarded.”

“I accept,” Rommath said immediately, bowing deeply from the waist. What use had he of free time? What reason to live other than magic?

“You may have time to think it over if you require.”

“I accept,” Rommath repeated, meeting Belo’vir’s gaze and nodding firmly. “I am honoured, sir, and I accept.”

 

* * *

 

Rommath moved into his own rooms in Belo’vir’s townhouse that afternoon. They were largely utilitarian in nature – a small bedroom, a smaller bathroom, a workshop-study – but well-appointed, and Rommath settled in gladly. Accommodations were set in place for Kim’dal – Rommath was not the first of Belo’vir’s apprentices to have a cat, and Belo’vir himself appeared to collect them – and they agreed on a gradual programme of introduction to help ensure feline harmony. She would not enjoy being confined to Rommath’s rooms for a while, but both she and Rommath had survived worse.

Belo’vir initially met Rommath’s request to clean his own rooms with surprise, but quickly nodded acceptance. “Yes, yes, it will keep you humble.”

It would keep him safe.

As safe as becoming the apprentice of one of the most high-profile men in the kingdom could be, anyway. Rommath’s appointment drew the attention of both his father and Kael, and neither would be denied.

His father summoned him to the family estate in Tranquilien, so transparently a power play that Rommath almost found himself laughing. The son had neglected to pay respects to the father upon first arrival back in Quel’thalas, and so he would be subjected to an audience in the study that had so terrified him as a boy.

“Gallivanting in that human city has robbed you of your manners, it would seem. What have you say for yourself, boy?”

It was difficult not to shrink before this man, this petty tyrant. But Rommath had seen him broken now, seen him lost and small at his mother’s funeral. His father had never remarried, almost unheard of for an alpha noble. They were grown men together, both with feelings they were loathe to admit. Rommath did not like him – still feared him, if he was honest – but the lord before him was not the entirely heartless creature of his childhood.

‘Boy’ rankled, though. _I am an Archmage of the Kirin Tor!_

“My apologies, my lord. The Grand Magister’s offer of employment was so swift and so unexpected that the excitement led to a failing of my filial duties.”

The gentle, calculated emphasis on ‘Grand Magister’ had the desired effect; his father grumbled a bit but soon bade him sit so that they could move on to ‘other matters’.

‘Other matters’ being, of course, the other filial duties at which Rommath had failed.

“You’ve tarried long enough. If you’re no longer companion to your wayward prince, it is time for you to finally respect your family and continue the line.”

 _Like you did by having only one son,_ Rommath thought viciously, though no, that was unfair; his mother, after having Rommath, was unable to have more children, and his father had not discarded her. That was worth something.

“I have nothing but respect for you and my heritage, my lord, but my studies under the Grand Magister must come first for a time.”

“And what will come first after that, I wonder? I indulged you when you insisted on traipsing after Anasterian’s irresponsible son, completely against my better judgment. Now I find myself wondering: are you incapable? Or have you shamed this family with an unsuitable marriage? Have you a human whore for a wife like your prince clearly desires?”

Rommath gaped; this angle of attack was completely unanticipated. But he knew how to parry.

“No, my lord, I have made no vows, have made no promises. I have no attachments at all, quel’dorei or human. I merely wish to be a good husband, a fitting husband. It was the last promise I made mother: to have time for my wife and children. Like you, sir.”

Rommath’s father had not been _entirely_ absent, but neither had he been doting and attentive. The gambit, in its unashamed blatancy, wagered entirely on his father’s pride and his unwavering affection for his mother.

“Very well,” his father said after an age. “I shall give you a year. But we _will_ revisit this. And I will not be so transparently manipulated again.”

A year. Such a short time in which to strategise. But he had survived once more.

 

* * *

 

Rommath’s meeting with Kael was another kind of ordeal altogether. Turning up on Belo’vir’s doorstep one evening, gifts in tow, Kael made it impossible for Rommath to refuse him. Sitting through polite conversation while they all drank the expensive wine Kael had brought was agony – not least because Kael kept eyeing his glass as though he knew that Rommath had been lying about drinking all his life – and the torture continued when Belo’vir removed himself from the drawing room and bade them enjoy their evening.

Rommath immediately cast a silencing spell over the room.

“What part of moving away was unclear?” he half-hissed, brows furrowed mutinously. “I did not want to see you, _do_ not want to see you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry,” Kael said, not cringing away from Rommath’s furious gaze as Rommath had hoped. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything, Rom. I’ve had time to think, dedicated myself to understanding, and I’m sorry, so sorry, that I didn’t listen to you. I’m sorry that I” – Kael’s breath hitched, slightly, slightly – “robbed you of agency. I’m sorry that I judged you, that I was unkind. I’m sorry that I...” Kael paused, nose red, eyes moist. “That I treated you as an omega and not as a person.”

A wave of labyrinthine horror dashed Rommath to the rocks. Kael was close to tears, and Rommath’s first reaction, his _omega_ reaction, was to comfort this alpha who looked and smelled so anguished, so broken. But he didn’t want to touch Kael. Didn’t want to help him. Didn’t want anything to do with him at all.

“How dare you come here and say this to me?” He was shaking. He didn’t want to be shaking. Didn’t know why he was shaking. Didn’t know why Kael’s words repulsed him so.

“I... I wanted to apologise.” Kael’s nose was running with misdirected tears. Again, Rommath felt the sick urge to comfort him. “I said I would wait for you to come to me, but I was beginning to fear that you never would. I want you to know that I understand. That I love you, and I understand.”

“And what is it that you understand?” Rommath said poisonously.

“That I hurt you. That you didn’t want it. That you have every right to hate me. That I failed in my duty as an alpha.” Even swiping away salt water from his top lip, Kael was beautiful.

Rommath laughed bitterly. “And what is your duty as an alpha? To protect me? Absurd! To think I should want – or need – to be protected _from_ alphas _by_ alphas.”

“I don’t think you need protecting, Rom,” Kael said quietly. “You are the strongest person I know.” He closed his eyes. “But heats... omegas need alphas. And alphas should not take advantage of that.”

“And yet they do and you did.”

“And I am sorry,” Kael said throatily. “Not a day goes by that I don’t miss you. Not a day goes by that I don’t wish I could take it all back. Please, I’m begging you, forgive me.”

It would be so simple to say yes. To say that he forgave him; to come together in tears of relief; to comfort each other. So simple. But what would life look like after that forgiveness? What would be expected of him? What would be needed from him? Rommath couldn’t imagine being beholden in that way, didn’t _want_ to imagine being beholden in that way.

“I can’t,” he rasped, his throat suddenly dry after all the wine he had not drunk.

“Rom, _please_.” Kael’s hands were wrung together so tightly the tips of his fingers were red. He looked as though he would stand but then thought better of it. “I will do anything you ask of me.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Then leave.”

Watching Kael’s mouth form and re-form words that were discarded like so many tears made Rommath feel powerful, terrible, lightheaded. The moment stretched as they both reeled from the impact of Rommath’s charge.

“As you wish,” Kael whispered, pushing shakily to his feet. His scent was infused with enough misery to cause Rommath actual pain in his gut, and Kael himself was likely suffering from not being allowed to comfort Rommath. In another, better world, they could have cuddled together; nuzzled, kissed, and caressed; calmed each other.

Looking towards the door, Kael frowned. “Please give my apologies to Belo’vir.” Violet light coalesced in his right palm, swirling like Rommath’s heart. Before Kael teleported out, he looked Rommath straight in the eyes, too intimate by far, and murmured, “I will wait for you.” 

And then he was gone.

 

* * *

 

Kael kept to his promise and did not return. On Rommath’s birthday he sent a card that Rommath could bear to neither open nor burn. Months later it still lay at the very bottom of his keepsake box, like a bomb shrouded in creamy gold vellum.

On Kael’s birthday Rommath sent nothing. After two centuries of elaborate, heartfelt celebrations, he couldn’t bring himself to gift him something impersonal. It would close the door on their friendship forever to do so, in a way that sheer absence would not. For however much Rommath hurt – and he did still hurt, an ache deep in his heart, a wound still oozing in his soul – it would be worse than even this pain to never see him again.

Most days, Rommath could forget. Belo’vir worked him hard, and every night Rommath fell into bed exhausted both body and mind. There was no time for him to dwell on either Kael or Astalor, and he barely had the energy to feel a pang of disappointment upon hearing of Jaina Proudmoore’s engagement to Prince Arthas Menethil. He had tried, and it was her life to ruin.

A century ago Rommath had assumed he had learned everything in Silvermoon worth knowing; studying under Belo’vir was humbling. The Grand Magister’s mastery of the fundamentals, so often considered dull, pedestrian, laid out a whole new paradigm for Rommath, one which he seized with fervour. There was beauty, power, grace, in the kind of understanding that Belo’vir espoused.

“You have fire in your soul, my boy,” Belo’vir declared one day, looking in on Rommath as he practised conjuring flame over and over, demanding the strength of his body bring it forth, focusing on the tension of his fingers, the vitality in his biceps.

Rommath had thought it a strange remark – his reputation had always been cold, calculating – but as he came, day by day, to truly master his control, he began to understand. He smouldered, low and slow, forced every day of his life to suppress himself in the name of survival. Thoughts, dreams, desires, all pushed down so hard they had turned to coal... and coal _burned_. Rommath burned. His passions flared when he was overcome – _Kael_ – but could he learn to turn that weakness into a strength? Allow his intensity to protect himself and others with deliberate audacity?

Could he set out to be a man whom others feared to push? Whose anger and resentment soared like Al’ar when allowed to take flight? _Yes_ , he decided. _Yes_ , he swore. A man whose sheer existence was audacious did not quail from power. He would be glorious, burning, beautiful, a man whose fury and fervour were locked and chained until _he_ chose to unleash them. He would master his magic, master his control, master himself. And when the time came to protect his prince, he would be a cataclysm that waited only for a spark.

From then on, when he was tired, Rommath nurtured the spark. When he was frustrated, when he railed in anger against those who dared judge omegas, he banked the coals. Every irritation was fresh kindling, every injustice a heavy iron poker. Fire burned within him, leaked out just barely from eyes and fingers if one knew to look – and as yet, no one did. No one but Belo’vir, who appraised him from time to time with the satisfied approval of a vindicated teacher. 

Rommath allowed himself to feel proud – it was one of the few emotions he did allow himself. Too much contemplation led to thoughts of Kael, or of Astalor, or of how he could possibly overcome being forced to marry by his father. 

Too much contemplation led to thoughts of Liadrin, the high priestess who regularly visited Belo’vir.

Initially, Rommath had thought she was Belo’vir’s daughter. They embraced easily and readily, and shared mannerisms like close family. When questioned, Belo’vir clarified that she was _like_ a daughter: his best friend Vandellor – _High Priest_ Vandellor – had adopted her after her parents had been killed in a troll raid, and Belo’vir had played a large part in raising her.

“Neither Vandellor nor I were much interested in marriage,” he said one night over wine. “Just didn’t appeal.” He looked at Rommath, who was unable to keep the fascination and hope from his face. “We were lucky, I suppose, to each be one of many sons. Superfluous, one might say.”

As both Grand Magister and representative of his House at the Convocation, Belo’vir had done well for being a superfluous son.

“Was there no pressure at all?” Rommath couldn’t help asking.

“Some, some. The House of Salonar never wishes to be outbred.” Belo’vir’s lips quirked. “And an alpha uninterested in companionship is always seen as suspicious at worst and an oddity at best... but I was clearly eccentric enough to be given little regard.” Sympathy settled into his eyes. “I do not envy you being the first and only son. If you wish, I can speak with your father, impress on him the importance of your studies, your indispensability to me... assuming that you do not yet wish to take a wife.”

Rommath refrained from replying immediately, lest he accidentally incriminate himself. “I thank you for your kind offer, sir,” he said. “If I find my duties to my house conflicting with my duties to you I will consult you immediately.”

And thus the matter was laid to rest... in theory. In practice, Rommath was reminded of his untenable position every time Liadrin came to visit. She was an alpha – the first female alpha he had ever encountered – and he burned with resentment, ugly and contemptible. His reactions horrified him – surely he was better than this, stronger than this – but still he seethed, anger turning to poison in his veins. She had received _his_ birthright; she possessed everything that would have given him a normal life, a happy life. They were both freaks of nature, unhappy accidents, but Liadrin had risen above her natural status while Rommath would be considered less than gutter trash if he was discovered.

Hearing her speak of her problems to Belo’vir did little to soften his heart. How terrible, to be underestimated by _some_ alphas; how devastating, to be rejected by _some_ omegas. Would that she understood what it was to truly suffer. Liadrin did not have to hide her true self. Liadrin would find a mate someday. Rommath never would.

Shame permeated every pore whenever he first caught her alpha scent in the house; he could not bear the thought of being looked down upon if she ever discovered his secret. He would no longer be Belo’vir’s brilliant young apprentice, he would be merely another omega, merely another potential fuck. It was galling enough from male alphas; from a woman the humiliation would be unsurvivable. She had the cock that by rights should have been his, could hold him down and fuck him with it no matter how he struggled. Could get him pregnant if she had a mind to.

 _Disgusting_.

It did not matter that Liadrin was warm and kind. It did not matter that she never spoke ill of omegas even when, as far as she was aware, none were present. It did not matter that Rommath occasionally overheard her speak of a past love with sadness. It did not matter that her fervent belief in the Light likely made her respectful of all of the Light’s creatures. Rommath despised her as a symbol of everything that he had been robbed of. He could only have hated her more if he had found her scent attractive.

Life, then, was busy but lonely. Rommath valued his talks with Belo’vir, enjoyed evenings when Vandellor visited for dinner, but the frequent presence of Liadrin meant that his resentment never had time to subside. Meeting with other apprentices and other mages was invigorating, but those connections were entirely academic. Rommath’s only real friend was Kim’dal, and while she was bright, her discourse was lacking.

From time to time Rommath considered writing to Astalor, but he still could not bring himself to reveal his secret. Rommath did not want pity, did not want to be seen as lesser. Everything would change between them, like it had with Kael, and silence was preferable to humiliation.

Eventually, the day came that Rommath had been dreading. Exactly a year on from when he had stood in his father’s study like a chastised child, Rommath was informed that if he did not begin to seriously look for a mate his father would select one for him. Which of the two was worse Rommath could not decide: attending social events and courting – deceiving – would be excruciating and immoral, while standing back and allowing a poor omega to be matched with him would be cowardly in the extreme.

Agreeing to seek out a mate of his own at least gave him more time to plan, so Rommath nodded and bowed like a dutiful son and left with a pocket full of gilded invitation cards to balls and salons whose edges cut at his fingers like the razor that was beginning to seem like his only viable option. A whole year of considering his options had yielded nothing beside Belo’vir’s offer to speak to his father, and however much Rommath wanted it, he knew that his father would not be dissuaded, not even by the Grand Magister.

He had thought he would sob after his first ball, where it seemed that every unattached omega had been briefed that he was seeking a wife, but as he lay on his bed, still in his finery, staring at the ceiling, he felt like he had left his body altogether. Interminable hours of conversation, of dancing, of pretending to be someone he was not – his very soul was exhausted, if it had not left altogether.

 _I cannot do this,_ he thought, closing his eyes, willing the world to disappear. It didn’t matter that most of the omegas approaching him likely only wanted him for his wealth and noble status – he had purposefully omitted attraction pheromones when developing his synthetic alpha scent – they were still expecting a real alpha, someone with whom they could have children, with whom romance might yet flourish regardless. Rommath would be robbing them of a life, dragging them into scandal.

If he stopped attending social events his father would select a mate for him. If he delayed choosing an omega to court, his father would select a mate for him. If Rommath rejected his father’s selection he had no doubt that he would be investigated, and _thoroughly_. Rommath could disavow his family, but he would still be investigated. Whatever happened, he was going to be discovered. 

What mattered now, he knew, was how many others he was going to drag into this misery. 

_Even one would be too many,_ he decided _._

There was relief in this. A fatalistic serenity. Peace came easily now that he knew how he would proceed, and sleep followed not long after.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Rommath requested a private meeting with Belo’vir.

“Sir,” Rommath began, back straight, shoulders rigid. “Grand Magister.” His jaw worked as he dredged up the words he had been rehearsing for the past few hours. Eye contact had never been more terrifying, but he _would_ be dignified. He would not shame himself further. There was dignity in truth.

“I have misled you,” he said, fear in his eyes, misery on his lips. His ears ached from the effort to keep them still and emotionless. “Egregiously.” 

Belo’vir’s face was impassive but for his questioning brow.

“I am not fit to be your apprentice. I am... I am an omega.” His voice hitched but Rommath swallowed and forged on. “I am celibate, I swear to you. I have never sought to shame you or your office. Magic is my life. It’s all I want. It is all I need. But I cannot deceive you, sir. I cannot repay your kindness with scandal.”

Rommath had prepared more, had prepared his resignation speech – _jump before you are pushed_ – but Belo’vir lifted a worn hand to forestall him. 

“Oh, my boy.”

The tenderness in those three words shattered Rommath’s attempt at stoicism completely. Prepared to stand against a storm, he fell as he pushed against the unexpected calm. His lips parted and his eyes grew large, and then larger still as Belo’vir crossed the space between them and placed a fatherly hand on his shoulder.

Rommath attempted not to flinch. Belo’vir was a _good_ man; he would not take advantage.

“I have been wondering when you might unburden yourself.” Belo’vir was not much taller than Rommath, but his presence was looming, immense. He had Rommath’s life in his hands, and he had not crushed it. “It has been difficult, has it not? Hiding who you are? I have rarely witnessed such bravery.”

_Not bravery. Survival._

But instead of voicing this confession, Rommath addressed the niggle that had been itching at him. “You... knew?”

Belo’vir’s smile was amused and rueful. “When one’s moonflower and bloodroot stocks deplete in equal quantities every three months after taking a new apprentice, there are but few conclusions at which one might arrive.”

“But I –” He had been so _careful_. He had taken his ingredients from storerooms all over Sunstrider Spire – he hadn’t even visited the same stocktwice yet.

“Oh, you’ve been clever, certainly. If I were anyone but the Grand Magister, I’m sure you could have continued in perpetuity. But,” Belo’vir said, fixing him with the shrewd gaze that had made a young Rommath respect him all those years ago, “the Grand Magister is more than just a magister. He must be as skilled in politics and subterfuge as he is in the arcane. Magisters are a ruthless lot; one must see everything.”

_And so he has seen me._

“Sir...” Rommath began, scrambling to adjust to this new reality. “Why, then, am I still in your employ?”

“Let’s sit, shall we? Enough of this standing around.”

As Rommath sank dazedly into a fine leather armchair Belo’vir pulled out a packet of biscuits and put on a pot of tea. No discussion was as frightening when biscuits were involved, especially not ones dipped in chocolate.

“I have never given very much credence,” Belo’vir began after he too had sat, “to the dictates of society. I prefer to judge for myself, and long ago I judged you to be an exceptional talent. You have only risen in my estimations since entering my household. If your being an omega has affected your ability, it can only have made you more determined.”

Rommath had no script for this. “So I may... stay?” The chocolate coating of his biscuit was melting on his fingers.

“For as long as you wish.”

For a moment Rommath felt elated, but then he remembered: “I still think I must resign, sir,” he said. “My father demands that I marry, and I can put him off no longer. I had planned to leave the kingdom to avoid the scandal that will come when he discovers what I am.”

Belo’vir poured tea for the both of them. “My offer to talk to him still stands.”

“And I am grateful, sir.” Rommath’s jaw worked as he considered his next words. “But the issue will be forced one way or another and I cannot allow anyone innocent to be hurt by my inaction.”

“Indeed not.” Belo’vir nodded thoughtfully. “Though perhaps there may yet be another way.” He sipped his tea, ears twitching as his mind kindled the sparks of a plan. 

Rommath took the opportunity during this moment of concentration to covertly lick the melted chocolate off his fingers. It was as sweet as this conversation was daring to be.

The decisive clink of cup meeting saucer heralded a proclamation. “If you are not above some political dealings, I think we can do some good _and_ keep you safe.”

Rommath nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“The King wants Prince Kael’thas to return to Silvermoon. The Prince, I presume, values your wellbeing. If we treat with them, convince Kael’thas to take up his royal duties in Silvermoon in exchange for your safety... then Anasterian will have to deal with your father. It will be in the interests of the Crown to avoid the scandal of the Prince associating with a male omega.” Belo’vir’s expression conveyed the exact degree of his distaste for these words.

“Your father will not be happy, of course, but I am certain that with the backing of the palace some arrangement can be arrived at to continue your line, if only in name.”

Rommath felt dizzy. He had long since put his cup down to hide the trembling of his fingers.

“This assumes that you are willing to both divulge your secret and pressure your friend into leaving Dalaran,” Belo’vir said, not unkindly, “but it is my opinion as Grand Magister and as your mentor that it would be for the best – for you, the Prince, _and_ for Quel’thalas. Kael’thas has responsibilities that he _must_ acknowledge, and there is no one better situated than you to remind him of them.”

Stifling a bitter laugh, Rommath winced. He likely still _was_ the person Kael was most likely to listen to, but he would not relish asking his friend to give up his life in Dalaran, especially not after sending him away at the end of their last meeting. Although...

_“I will do anything you ask of me.”_

Yes. Kael would do it. And perhaps this sacrifice would help Rommath to finally forgive him.

“I will do it,” Rommath declared, voice catching on the strength of his emotions. Belo’vir, the supportive father figure he had never had; protection, a way to live, to truly _live_... “And so will he.” To his dismay there was moisture welling in his eyes and his omega scent was beginning to reassert itself.

“Then we have a plan.” Belo’vir stood, clapped his hands together decisively. “Go and rest for a bit, boy. Have the afternoon off.”

“I’d rather work, sir,” Rommath said, standing too, surreptitiously brushing biscuit crumbs from his robes.

Belo’vir scrutinised him for a moment. “After lunch, then, when you’ve had a chance to gather yourself.” He patted Rommath on the shoulder. “I’ll tell Kalla to make your favourite.”

Rommath allowed himself to smile; the expression felt foreign on his face.

As he turned to leave, to head to his rooms to bathe and reapply his alpha scent, the door to Belo’vir’s study burst open so violently it rebounded off the wall. Belo’vir instantly had a fireball swirling between his cupped palms; Rommath, to his shame, had frozen.

It was Belo’vir’s assistant, hair askew, glasses almost falling off his nose, gasping for breath.

“Grand Magister, an army is marching on Silvermoon.”


	13. Chapter 13

Facing Kael again had been hard, but not as hard as watching Silvermoon crumble around him. As always, Rommath managed. Rommath endured.

“Silvermoon has fallen,” he stated baldly, staring at Kael’s right ear to avoid the eyes that even now, over a year later, kindled longing and resentment both. “An undead army with Menethil at the helm. They sought the Sunwell.”

There had been no time for personal issues after that proclamation. _Crises really do bring people together_ , he thought, with creased brows and little humour.

Kael’thas resigned from the Council of Six; his loyalties, once divided, now belonged to Quel’thalas and Quel’thalas alone. Informing Kael that his father had been slain had ranked as one of the worst moments of Rommath’s life.

“I would see the damage to my kingdom for myself,” Kael declared, though quietly, sorrow leaking through the cracks of his resilient facade.

And so it was that Kael prepared the Royal Guard and a few trusted souls, while Rommath returned to Silvermoon to inform the survivors of their prince’s coming.

 

* * *

 

Falconwing Square, which had received the brunt of the assault, had not been cleared. Had they really been brought so low that they lacked the manpower to deal with some now-masterless monsters? Regretting his choice of teleportation destination, Rommath came out from his crouch beside the fountain – waters sullied with Light-knew-what – with a firm hand on his staff and black eyes narrowed into coal. If there were survivors, he would find them.

Roiling, cleansing flame lit the square. Gout after gout struck the milling undead who were drawn to the noise and movement. Rommath, searching one building, then the next, set his jaw so tightly he might never move it again.

_Don’t look too closely at the survivors._

It would appear cold, he knew, to almost ignore them, to fail to look them in the eye, but he could not afford to be reminded of his father, glassy-eyed and largely torn apart at the family’s Tranquilien estate, or of his sister and her children strewn behind him, traces of protection magic in the air. Hunting these monsters was troubling enough – he would break through his scent blockers swiftly and devastatingly if he paused for even a moment of compassion.

It was a constant threat, one he must assiduously ignore, a game one lost by remembering one was playing at all. How had he managed during these nightmare days? Rommath was reapplying his blockers more frequently and rallying every technique he had ever employed while in the presence of Kael, but he was surely living on borrowed time.

(Wasn’t he always?)

Belo’vir had sent him to evacuate the city’s children as a kindness, he knew, to keep him away from the stresses of fighting. Better not to think about the result of that, though, or to think of anything at all.

Ghoul. Flame. Woman trapped under rubble. 

Skeleton. Flame. Man trembling inside a cupboard.

On and on Rommath pressed, until finally he and his gaggle of strays made it to the great gate of the Bazaar and the pitifully small bulwark beyond. A couple of Farstriders who looked even more dishevelled than Rommath felt greeted him with a cheer that served to remind him of the weariness deep in his bones. 

The survivors were ushered off to the inn that had been established as the makeshift base of operations. Rommath yearned to follow them, to see if there was food, see if there was _coffee_. Instead, he straightened his back, straightened his face, and demanded to see the commander of this operation. 

As the messenger scurried off, Rommath cast a more discerning eye over the camp. The majority of elves were Farstriders, trained for survival, with a smattering of priests tending to the wounded. Where were all the magi? Surely someone from the Convocation would have taken charge by now? If Belo’vir were still alive he would have... well. Ridiculous to dwell on now. He would grieve in private when there was time, when he was safe.

Which was decidedly _not_ when he was being approached by a Farstrider whose face had lost a fight with something sharp and disgusting. The man looked as tired as his armour, but still managed a certain dignity in his movements that marked him out as more than a regular ranger. 

“Well met,” he began, extending a grubby hand that he then frowned at as though it belonged to someone else before withdrawing it, unclasped. “You must be the Prince’s envoy? I am Ranger Lord Lor’themar Theron, current leader of Silvermoon’s survivors. What news have you from Prince Kael’thas?”

Despite the unforgivable rudeness of it, Rommath hoped desperately that his vulnerable gape was taken for disgust at the wet, red scar that bisected the ranger’s left eye. The reality – that the broad, horribly disfigured woodsman standing before him was the mysterious alpha he had been fantasising about for the past year and a half – was incredible, inconceivable.

“In private,” Rommath snapped, stalling for time. Modifying his tone, he added, “I must impart my news in private.”

“Of course,” the ranger – Lor’themar Theron, what a name – agreed, with more grace than Rommath deserved. He started towards the inn with the same easy gait that Rommath had admired on his approach, all long legs and powerful shoulders. The long, cornsilk-blond hair escaping from the knot at the nape of his neck should have made him look unkempt, but instead he looked rugged, vigorous, like he was in his element.

Taking a moment to compose his features and calm his breathing, Rommath followed him, aghast at the effect Theron was having on him. The heat in his cheeks, his ears, his neck, felt like the glow of a foundry. His heart fluttered in his chest like a frightened bird in a cage. Most dangerously of all, his cock was rock hard and he _ached_ inside, shamefully aroused and increasingly wet and throbbing. 

He’d demanded they move so he could prepare himself for the onslaught of further conversation, but he’d clearly miscalculated because how was he ever going to make it through this briefing without either smashing through his scent blockers or just straight-up throwing himself at this jumped-up Farstrider? What was worse, with every step he took towards the inn seducing Theron seemed like a better and better idea – though ‘idea’ was entirely the wrong word because it implied rational thought, and the only time Rommath had ever been further from that in his life had been when he’d been writhing and moaning under Kael.

 _What is happening to me?_ The question slipped through his fingers frantically, like a torrent of quicksilver. Deep down he knew – had suspected since the second time he’d experienced that intoxicating scent – but the truth was unbearable in such a myriad of ways that Rommath quarantined it like an especially virulent contagion. To revisit it he would need privacy, fortitude, and more bravery than he feared he possessed.

Sitting down on a plush chair in a room that seemed ludicrous for its untouched normalcy compared to the rest of Silvermoon, Rommath smoothed away a wince; he was so aroused that the enchanted pad in his underwear was already beginning to fail, wet and uncomfortable. 

Setting his jaw – it was easy, so easy to be angry at this audacious man – Rommath’s tongue dripped venom as he confirmed that Prince Kael’thas was returning to the city to take up the mantle of leadership. The chill he forced into his gaze in order to survive looking into Theron’s single brown eye – in order to not imagine looking up into it while clutching at his shoulders in ecstasy – conveyed, he hoped, the level of disdain he felt for the current command.

“The time and manner of his arrival must remain secret,” Rommath reiterated. “There is clearly a traitor in our midst: Ban’dinoriel could not have failed otherwise. I trust you are capable of watching your tongue.” Rommath subconsciously wet his lips.

“Of course,” Theron agreed, though with less grace than earlier. Clearly Rommath’s needling was puncturing his alpha pride. “I am... _was_... Ranger General Sylvanas Windrunner’s second in command: the security of Quel’thalas is my first priority.”

Rommath nodded as coldly as he could manage while he was burning inside. “Ensure that it remains so.” He felt faint, dizzy, spiralling out of control. Could he smell himself? Was he merely imagining it? Abruptly he pushed back his chair, stood, looked down his nose at Lor’themar Theron. “I will send for you when I have news.” 

He strode towards the door.

Theron stood too, lips parted as though he were tasting the air. “Wait,” he said. “You have not given me your name –”

“Rommath,” Rommath said, sweeping out of the room before Theron could demand anything more of him, before Theron could further assault him with those indecently thrilling pheromones. He had managed to escape detection – given the truth he was denying it would have been overwhelmingly obvious had he not – but it was imperative that he flee from the Bazaar. Any remaining pockets of undead would not be so dangerous – an absurd thought, but literally nothing else could be solved with the fire and fury that thrummed through his veins.

The Royal Exchange; he would head to the Royal Exchange and his rooms in Belo’vir’s townhouse. If he was lucky he could bathe, rest, collect vital alchemical reagents. If not, if the house had been destroyed, then he could at least vent his rage. And perhaps, perhaps, Kim’dal had escaped the fighting, was waiting for his return.

 

* * *

 

Lor’themar’s first instinct was to chase after Rommath – he had been waiting for this meeting for _days_ and they had barely even begun to discuss logistics – but he faltered as the barest trace scent of an omega going into heat began to flush his cheeks and raise his pulse. He sat back down and massaged his temples, willing himself to overcome his body’s natural reaction. Someone in the vicinity of the inn was about to become very vulnerable and they would require his protection until suppressants could be found. Their mate, if they had one, had likely been killed in the attack: most of Silvermoon’s frontline defenders had been alphas. This was going to be one of their biggest challenges over the coming days, months, and years.

Lor’themar’s biggest challenge currently, however, was the urgent, almost painful erection that throbbed insistently with every thump of his heart. Shocked by the intensity of it, he ran through a whole litany of unappealing thoughts and performed, again and again, the set of breathing exercises that every Farstrider learned on their first day of training – but the affliction remained.

What was happening to him? The scent had been barely a trace! He had caught it for a single moment – the owner had likely removed themselves to safety – and his blood was up like an adolescent in his first rut. Every instinct urged him to find this omega, satisfy their heat in a way only he could, claim them with fangs and seed. It was primal, savage, and he wanted none of it. 

The barest germ of a thought niggled at him, an explanation that would make sense of this overwhelming animal lust, but no – if they were his true mate he would have detected them outside of their heat too and they would have detected _him_. One did not ignore their true mate, one of life’s rarest and greatest gifts. The pining would be unbearable – even physically painful, if the romance novels in every Farstrider common room were to be believed.

Not that Lor’themar read them. They were an exercise in masochism as far as he was concerned: his heart had been ripped from him by circumstance long ago in his youth and, like his left eye, would never work again.

Now was not the time for maudlin thoughts, however. He had duties to attend to, an omega to protect. How, though, could he possibly protect anyone in this state? As distasteful as it was, there was only one solution that came to mind.

Door locked, trousers open, Lor’themar worked himself with both hands firmly and swiftly, pleasure barely registering, a dispassionate means to a much-needed end. If he entertained the notion, even briefly, of being with the omega who was going into heat, well, that was only natural, however regrettable. He came with a grunt, pumping himself with one hand and massaging his knot with the other, until finally he slumped back against his chair, panting heavily.

There could have been no other honourable course of action, but he still felt sullied and ashamed. Countless quel’dorei were fighting for their lives at this very moment and he – their leader – had wasted valuable minutes spilling himself into a hastily-appropriated tablecloth. Even worse, he – their leader – had likely been the one who had revealed the location of the mooncrystals. Lor’themar had disliked Rommath almost immediately – his fellow alpha had been brusque and disdainful – but he had not been wrong about there being a traitor in their midst.

_“The security of Quel’thalas is my first priority.”_

What a fool he was! So friendly, so trusting, so eager to share information with anyone who proferred even a halfway-decent pretext. It was possible that Dar’Khan hadn’t been the one to betray Quel’thalas, but the timing, the seeming coincidence... 

Well, there would be time to adequately castigate himself later, when his people were all safe and warm and fed. It wasn’t ideal to return to duty with his knot still engorged and his cock still mostly hard, but that was what alpha underwear had been designed for: minimising the maximum. His head was clear, and that was what mattered. 

Until Prince Kael’thas arrived, Lor’themar would be Silvermoon’s rock, a protector of all.

 

* * *

 

Rommath had had to scramble over some rubble and teleport up a broken staircase to reach his rooms in Belo’vir’s house, but he was almost thankful for the effort since it was unlikely that anyone – or any _thing_ – would accidentally stumble across him. Most of the Royal Exchange had been wrecked, despoiled; Sunstrider Spire itself had been so badly ruined that Rommath was certain that Arthas had taken deliberate pleasure in it.

Kim’dal was not there, but the dish of food he had hastily placed for her before teleporting to Dalaran after the attack had been emptied. Whether by her or one of Belo’vir’s own cats – equally absent – he was unsure, but at least it had been eaten. He prepared another one, and then another four after thinking for a moment. Cats were renowned for their hunting abilities, but what would there be to hunt in a desecrated Silvermoon? Even the rats should have fled if they had half a brain.

He laughed, a morbid, broken thing. It was likely that there was a great number of rats with half a brain strewn around Silvermoon, and rats weren’t even the worst of it. Most of the elven corpses had been dragged away for burning – _so that they don’t come back_ – but only his anger at Lor’themar Theron had insulated him from shaking and vomiting on the viscera-covered flagstones.

Once he began laughing he found it difficult to stop. He felt faint, hysterical. Like he was burning up. Falling to his knees, he pressed his forehead onto the cool blankets on his bed and tried his best not to think of zombies and ghouls and the fact that his mentor – his beloved father figure – had been ripped to shreds by them along with his actual family. There would be no chance to enact Belo’vir’s plan to save him, but – and this raised another laugh-sob – what did it matter now that his father was dead? No one would be holding Rommath to account for anything ever again.

Hot. He was so hot. His palms were sweating; everything was sweating. Since the attack the Sunwell’s power had felt strange, an uncanny taste that his tongue couldn’t place, but it wasn’t that, he knew. This was a very singular experience, and although it was two months early, it was becoming clearer with every passing moment that Rommath was going into heat. The speed and strength of its onset lent a credence to the repulsive truth he had quarantined that he was genuinely afraid to confront.

 _Light damn you, Theron_ , he thought viciously as he pulled himself up, damp palms wiping off on the blankets. Two months early! It was bad enough to have discovered that his mystery alpha was someone he would be forced into contact with on at least several more occasions, but being pushed into heat so early... it was the stuff of the novels he had covered in plain brown paper and hidden under his bed.

Omegas only went into heat early when they met their true mate, it was said. They flushed and swooned, drove their alpha into rut, and were ceremoniously carried away to be mated and claimed no matter the company they were in. The more scandalous setting the better, in fact, the dancefloor of Sunfury Spire’s grandest ballroom being the very pinnacle of passion.

So it was fitting that Rommath had met his... his... that he had met this ridiculous alpha in the middle of a warzone and had been left to tend to himself all alone. It was immaterial that it was he who had fled, that it was he who had prevented this witless alpha from scenting him. A few more moments and he could have been swept off his feet like the heroines of his books, though in this case it was more likely that he would have been swept onto the table of the small room they had been sitting in. With his gruesome scar, Theron had looked more than capable of it.

In his study, ingredients mixed, Rommath waited for his heat suppressant potion to brew. Soon this episode would be over, though he didn’t know if it would be triggered again the next time he caught Theron’s pheromones. There was simply no precedent for it: to the best of his knowledge, true mates always consummated their relationship as soon as physically possible. In the novels sometimes circumstances sought to separate them, but they were always swiftly reunited and the omega never suppressed their heat. (And why would they want to? Sex while in heat was glorious, and with one’s true mate apparently transcendent.)

Prudently, then, he was brewing spares, and intended to scavenge through the ruins of Sunfury Spire for ingredients to help the general populace too. The suffering of omegas going into heat over the coming days, their mates likely dead, was unthinkable. He had to report back to Kael at the end of the day, but until then his time was his own, and who better to secure supplies while incinerating abominations?

Potion brewed, barely cooled, Rommath almost choked, too desperate and feverish to sip it slowly. Feeling out of control was anathema to him – his every action must be deliberate, judicious, and being in the throes of heat was the very antithesis of rationality. A base, shameful part of him still wanted to return to the inn in the Bazaar and demand nature take its course. He hadn’t been fucked in a year and a half, and even though Theron disgusted him (or was that merely projection? No, no, he was just a brute Farstrider with a hideous scar) his scent was still intoxicating, still made Rommath’s blood sing.

On the occasion of his first surprise heat all those years ago, a young Rommath had gone to sleep after taking his heat suppressant, exhausted after the trauma. This time he had not the luxury – he had vital duties, and an insistent ache inside that had not abated with time or distance. It would hold his mind hostage, he knew, until it had been satisfied, no matter how very not in the mood he was. Outrageous, that one man could affect him like this!

Bristling with resentment, Rommath returned to his bedchamber and removed his robes, dismayed by the sweet smell of omega in heat that clung to the fabric. In the coming days he would have to get used to conjuring fresh clothing; there would be few opportunities for doing his own laundry. Always, always he was hiding, going to painstaking lengths just to keep himself alive. What would it be like to just _be_? To enjoy himself, accept himself? With his father gone he was closer than he’d ever been, but Lor’themar _fucking_ Theron had blundered straight into Rommath’s life like a rampaging boar and so here he was again, scrabbling for strategies while he lay naked on his bed, preparing to quiet his traitorous body.

No time for teasing or luxury; Rommath knelt, arched his back, and pressed his face to the pillows, hoping the provocative position would hurry his climax. Now that he knew who his mysterious alpha was, he had no fantasies to fall back on. All he could rely on was his conjured toy, warm and thick and powerful, perfectly curved and ready to knot him when he wished it. Far superior to whatever a knothead alpha thought they could offer him! 

(The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.)

As the phallus thrust itself in and out of him, though, his thoughts kept falling back to Theron as though gravity was broken. The scar was terrible, but his legs and hips had moved with the grace of a lynx, fluid and forceful. What would those hips feel like, smacking against his ass again and again, muscular arms pulling him closer, crushing him against his powerful frame?

_“You have not given me your name –”_

And would that he hadn’t! His name in those liquid chocolate tones, formed by lips and tongue and teeth... it was indecent, disgraceful, made all the more so by his imagining those lips and tongue and teeth running over his flushed skin, teasing gasps and needy whines from him. 

_Rommath... Rommath... come for me, Rommath..._

And Rommath did, with a sodden moan into his pillow, fluttering and contracting around the knot of his toy as he spilled himself on the bedcovers.

For a while he couldn’t move, overwhelmed, a phantom trace of Theron’s pheromones harassing his senses. Was this to be his life from now on, pleasuring himself to intrusive thoughts of a man he detested? Better he thought of Kael again if that were the case! If Silvermoon weren’t a warzone he’d be tempted to seek out some new books, find an alpha hero to enjoy, but they were all arrogant rakes or brutes anyway. He didn’t know what other omegas saw in them.

As he stirred, despair and disgust threatened to drown him. Once he had bathed and dressed he would be leaving this house and Belo’vir behind. Belo’vir, the best of men, the only person who had ever known him for exactly who he was and valued him despite – no, because of – it.

_“You have fire in your soul, my boy.”_

True mate or not – and Rommath was still not convinced that it wasn’t merely a concept fabricated specifically to allow alphas to cheat on arranged marriages with impunity – Rommath had a fire that was all his own and he would survive as he always had. Belo’vir had believed in him, and Rommath would believe in Belo’vir.

If he thought of Lor’themar Theron every time he slung a fireball at a wandering ghoul while traversing the ruins of Sunfury Spire for alchemical reagents, well, that was just healthy stress management.

It meant nothing.

Nothing at all.


	14. Chapter 14

As much as he loved his dear friend, Lor’themar had never been partial to awakening with Halduron’s face hovering over his like a grinning lynx. Aside from the sheer alarm it engendered – a man should only be startled awake like that in an emergency – it was always a herald of conversations he never wanted and was poorly-equipped for. A true Farstrider, Halduron always knew how to ensnare his prey.

Giving a multi-purpose groan – _go away; what time is it; how are you always so damned chipper?_ – Lor’themar forced his good eye to stay open and focus. How strange that was, how disconcerting, to be missing half of his vision, to just see _nothing_ where there should be _something_. Not darkness, not static, just... absence.

Thankfully, Halduron had drawn back, sitting on the edge of the bed, though he still looked amused, which was deeply disquieting considering how little there had been to be amused about in recent days.

“I thought I would do you the courtesy,” Halduron began, in a manner that could only be described as mischievous, “of telling you that you cannot possibly resume your duties in your current condition.”

“My ‘current condition’.” Lor’themar did not offer him the satisfaction of a questioning tone.

“Friend to friend... you’ve been smelling more and more like a buck in his first rut, and it’s going to affect your leadership. I could smell you as I came up the stairs.” Halduron raised an eyebrow. “Your mind’s clearly elsewhere, so what’s going on? _Who’s_ going on?”

“Nothing and nobody.” Lor’themar dragged himself upright to sit against the headboard. He was not going to have this conversation with Halduron smirking down at him.

“Your scent says differently.”

Lor’themar crossed his arms across his bare chest, not at all shy of his nudity. “And what, exactly, does it say.”

“That there’s an omega you want. That you’re holding yourself back from them out of a sense of duty.” Halduron traced a finger down between Lor’themar’s pectorals, lips quirking as Lor’themar inhaled deeply.

Shameful, how wound up he was. Just this one touch from his friend and he was hardening beneath the sheets, body yearning for more, proving Halduron’s point in the most obnoxious way possible.

“There is no omega,” Lor’themar said heavily, resigned to the conversation now. “I keep... I thought...” He frowned in frustration at his inarticulacy and began again. “Something here haunts me. I fear that I am hallucinating or going mad. You... you will laugh at me.”

“I will not.”

“A few days ago I thought I scented my true mate, but I could not find them and they did not make themselves known to me. Naturally I assumed I had been mistaken, but...”

“You keep scenting them,” Halduron finished for him, softly.

“Like a phantom. My senses betray me. I can only surmise that it is an unfortunate side effect of whatever has happened to the Sunwell, or – if I am the only sufferer – that I am not up to the task of leading us through until the Prince arrives.”

“Alar’annalas, _no one_ could be protecting our people better than you.” Invoking Lor’themar’s official title of ranger lord, bestowed upon him by the late Ranger General Windrunner, Halduron’s expression was both fierce and oddly tender. “These are strange days – let us not assume the fault is yours so hastily.”

“You yourself said that my leadership is being affected,” Lor’themar objected.

“Mmm, no – I said your overwhelming horniness is _going_ to affect your leadership.” Halduron’s grin displayed a troubling amount of fang. “Which, uncoincidentally, is what I woke you up early in order to rectify.”

Lor’themar’s senses really were betraying him: if he’d been even an iota more alert, he would have processed Halduron’s lazy arousal upon waking. Lacking urgency, it was a thing of late Sunday mornings, of affection and hedonism.

“Let me ease that tension,” Halduron entreated, voice smooth and rich as sin.

It was foolish to hesitate – they had been intimate together on countless occasions over the years – but what if his true mate _was_ out there in the city? Would he be betraying them? Lor’themar loved Halduron as a brother, but they only slept together for comfort, for scratching an itch, especially out in the forests away from civilisation. They both hoped to settle down with an omega one day; Halduron especially would speak of his desire for a pretty, playful mate and a veritable army of children.

“If you do not want to I shall leave,” Halduron said, “but if you’re thinking to deny yourself for the sake of your phantom omega, remember that they have not approached you.”

Lor’themar grimaced, face twisting more as the movement pulled at the red, wet wound of his left eye. How did Halduron still want him, looking as gruesome as he did? 

“Yes, thank you, I did so need that reminder.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Just that you’re honourable to a fault, and on this occasion it is most definitely a fault. _If_ your true mate is here, fidelity and romance are clearly not currently their top priorities. And if you’ve never even met, you cannot betray them. Relax and _enjoy_ yourself, Lor. Light knows you need it. We all do.”

A wry smile. “I marvel constantly at your uncanny ability to read my mind.”

Halduron smirked, settling himself in Lor’themar’s lap. “You know what it’s telling me now?”

Lor’themar brushed aside a lock of hair that had escaped Halduron’s headband. “Elucidate, do.”

“You’re going to pin me down and punish me for my presumptuousness. No ranger lord should allow his second to be so forward.”

“It’s true, you are always a handful.”

“More than a handful,” Halduron murmured, throwing back the bedcovers and sitting back down on Lor’themar’s thighs, squeezing his exposed cock to punctuate his assertion.

After days of torture and deprivation, the touch was too much. With a deep groan, Lor’themar grabbed the back of Halduron’s head and pulled him into a fierce kiss, lips burning, heart pounding. Their joining was carnal, full of scraping teeth and thrusting tongues, two alphas fighting for dominance. They both knew that Halduron was going to end up speared on Lor’themar’s cock – unusually for an alpha, he enjoyed taking almost as much as giving – but the struggle beforehand was always blood-thumping.

“ _Clothes_. _Off_ ,” Lor’themar growled, the rasp of Halduron’s leathers against his own nakedness an imbalance that could not stand.

“Make me.” Halduron scraped his fangs over Lor’themar’s lower lip, squeezing his cock again.

Insolent pup!

Shoving Halduron squarely in the chest, Lor’themar followed as he fell, straddling his hips and lightly, lightly resting his teeth against Halduron’s neck, the gentlest of threats.

The vibration of Halduron’s lewd purr electrified Lor’themar’s lips. The wanton wiggle against the mattress nearly made him smile and break character; his friend was shameless, and, if not selfless, certainly had Lor’themar’s interests at heart as well as his own. Feeling powerful, feeling desired, he had needed this after days of a confusing fog of rejection and frustration.

“You submitted quickly.” Lor’themar pulled back enough to begin undoing the fastenings on Halduron’s chest armour.

“I want to get to the good part,” Halduron said, eyes twinkling. “Oh, and your authority is overpowering, of course.”

“Of course.”

Halduron saluted lazily. “Alar’annalas.”

Lor’themar caught his wrist and swept his arm down to the bed, pinning it and fixing him with a stern look. “That is quite enough from you, Brightwing.” Once again, forming an expression sent dull pain radiating from his injured eye.

“Lor...” Halduron said softly, looking up at him, clearly concerned. “I know there wasn’t enough time to save your sight, but surely a priest could heal you more than this?”

“Your first aid skills were perfectly adequate. The few priests remaining are rushed off their feet tending to citizens with injuries far more grave than mine.” 

(If Liadrin had returned from Quel’danas she would have insisted on tending to him, but he could not think about that.)

“As acting-Ranger General you could jump the queue, I’m sure... though of course you won’t.” Halduron sighed good-naturedly. “You are lucky that fucking is natural pain relief.”

“I imagine requesting that you stop making me frown is out of the question,” Lor’themar drawled.

“I shall do my utmost to behave.” Halduron offered him a roguish smile. “But I suggest you act swiftly, lest I fall into further mischief.”

“I shall take that under advisement.” Lor’themar winced as he laughed. He wondered how he was going to survive sex with Halduron; touching himself since his injury had been perfunctory, a scratching of an itch, barely pleasurable, easy to keep his face still, but with Halduron he always lost himself, his unselfconscious hedonism infectious.

Nimble fingers made swift work of Halduron’s leathers. The front of his underwear was smeared with his arousal, deliciously slippery against Lor’themar’s fingertips. Halduron had always been leaky, and it always inflamed Lor’themar to see his body so responsive and eager. His cock sprang free to rest high on his taut belly, as handsome as Halduron himself, the soft hair at the base golden and glorious. 

Unable to resist, Lor’themar dipped his head and took as much as he dared into his mouth, lips stretched, jaw wide. Halduron claimed it was possible to deep-throat alpha cocks with training, but Lor’themar had found long ago that choking and gagging on another alpha’s manhood left him cold, and Halduron had never pressed the issue past occasionally cajoling Lor’themar to allow him to attempt it himself, to which Lor’themar always said no. Fair to a fault (and again, Halduron would claim it as a fault) he would never allow a partner to do something he himself would not do.

Really wanting to make Halduron gasp, Lor’themar pulled back just long enough to toss his sticky underwear aside and then redoubled his efforts, cheeks hollowing as he sucked, hands sliding between his legs, one fondling his heavy balls, the other beginning to gently stroke his entrance with a fingertip. After days of struggling alone, warm skin against his was heavenly, especially with Halduron pressing up into his touch even as he tried his best to stop his hips from thrusting into Lor’themar’s mouth.

“Light, Lor, I don’t want to come right away,” Halduron panted, his spreading knees at odds with his words. “One thing at once. Preferably that talented tongue of yours making way for your cock.”

Ears flushing – Halduron’s easy bluntness was a marked contrast to the lovely omegas Lor’themar otherwise bedded, and it managed to fluster him every time – Lor’themar took hold of Halduron’s thighs, pushing them up to his chest and spreading them out so he could really give his ass the attention it deserved.

“So strong...” Halduron hummed playfully, exclamation sliding into a low moan as Lor’themar’s tongue began to lave his hole, hot and wet, gentle to begin with, becoming faster and more forceful as his arousal surged. The clean, fresh musk of Halduron’s skin, tinged with the scent of rare alpha submission, was making Lor’themar’s entire body thrum. His buttocks clenched as his hips thrust in little circles; his cock felt impossibly heavy, like a black hole of need and desire. 

Lor’themar was rarely at ease with his instinct to dominate, preferring instead to shower his lovers with affection and tender strength, but Halduron always knew how to draw out his primal side. Alphas were rarely compatible with each other (indeed, when Lor’themar’s childhood love had unexpectedly presented as an alpha their relationship had faltered despite his best efforts), but when they were their couplings were explosive. The only limit was how much cock the receiving alpha could manage to take, not naturally built to accommodate such length and girth as omegas were.

Halduron, as with many things sex, had made an art of it. In their youth Lor’themar had feared hurting him, but Halduron had put that thoroughly to rest when he had tied Lor’themar down and ridden him like he needed cock to live. Thoroughly convinced and thoroughly dazed, Lor’themar had allowed himself a free rein ever since. Letting go, however distasteful it seemed to his better self, was a pleasure that always left him drained yet energised, exuding a distinctly masculine confidence that felt like his birthright as an alpha.

When Lor’themar finally pushed his tongue inside, squeezed tight by Halduron’s muscles, the groan Halduron gave sent a jolt of voracious need down his spine and into his belly, every muscle tense and ready. He regretted that his tongue wasn’t quite long enough to reach the sweet spot that would have Halduron singing, but he decided that Halduron deserved to be teased anyway. It was part of the game, part of the push and pull between them. Halduron transparently manipulated him, acting out in order to receive the punishment he desired. If Lor’themar punished him by not punishing him at all, Halduron still got what he wanted. Lor’themar was more than okay with this, however. His pleasure came from that deep voice begging for his cock, begging to be fucked, and from withholding it until neither of them could bear it any longer.

This morning it did not take long.

Practically whimpering, Halduron ordered Lor’themar to fetch the oil. “You smell like sex itself,” he groaned. “ _Fuck_.” His cock twitched against his belly, skin smeared with his arousal. 

Searching urgently through Halduron’s pack, Lor’themar was struck by the deeply unwanted thought of whether his phantom true mate would react like Halduron to his simmering rut. Whether they would lie helpless before him, sodden with desire at the sheer strength of his need to pound into their soft body. Whether they would beg him to bite them, claim them, make them his so they would be joined in body and spirit always.

Lor’themar had never lost control of himself even during the very trying years of adolescence, but Halduron was right, something primal had been building in him and he had underestimated its danger. Too much stress, too little sleep, and, although he was loathe to admit it, the arrogance of his belief that he was one of the ‘enlightened’ alphas and thus could always handle his urges. This had been true previously, but these were unprecedented circumstances and he had failed to adapt.

 _I will be better_ , he vowed, committing himself to vigilance.

Lor’themar nearly dropped the bottle of oil when he stood up to see Halduron on his hands and knees, hips tilted, ass ready and waiting for him. When his lovers first noticed the upward curve of his cock they almost inevitably settled on their backs for a g-spot or prostate pounding, and Lor’themar was always happy (and, if he was honest with himself, proud) to oblige. He enjoyed watching their eyes roll back or their eyelids flutter, enjoyed kissing them hungrily after he’d brought them to a particularly thunderous orgasm.

Sometimes, though. Sometimes, he wanted to fuck, really _fuck_ , but was too chivalrous to deny his partner their desire. Fucking like an animal wasn’t noble, wasn’t _nice_. In a world that was all about alpha wants, alpha pleasures, he tried his utmost to resist it. 

But it was always there. Just waiting to be baited out by someone debauched, by someone to whom sexual politics meant less than nothing.

Just waiting for Halduron.

“Stop gawking at my perfection and come _fuck_ me,” Halduron demanded, golden hair falling over his shoulder as he craned his neck to look over at Lor’themar. His thighs trembled infinitesimally; Lor’themar could not help but marvel at exactly how potent his pheromones appeared to be. If his true mate had come to him, would they have ever left his bed? Assuming, as his potentially traitorous senses had told him, that they had caught his regular scent and gone into heat, they would have spiralled into a blistering feedback loop together, heat stoking rut stoking heat until they were too exhausted to move, lying together in a puddle of heat and sweat and semen.

Halduron’s little pink pucker yielded eagerly to Lor’themar’s impatient fingers, two then three then four, as relaxed and welcoming as though he’d been taken several times already that day. He hadn’t, of course – he’d been running himself ragged in order to give Lor’themar the chance to rest – but with his heightened level of testosterone Lor’themar almost wished that he had so that he could assert his dominance, his superiority, fuck the come out of him and replace it with his own, pump after pump after pump.

Veins more hormones than blood, Lor’themar gave himself over to the thrill of being an alpha with a warm, submissive body below them. Cock vigorously slicked, he lined himself up with Halduron’s greedy hole and shoved inside, pushing and pushing until he was balls-deep and Halduron was panting like a bitch in heat.

“Oh _fuck_.” Halduron’s groan was pornographic and visceral. “You’re _huge_ today. _Fuck_.”

Lor’themar hesitated. Had he hurt him? Had he gone too far in his aggression?

Halduron arched his back to breaking point, grinding his ass against Lor’themar’s pelvis. “Don’t _stop_ , you knothead!”

“Call me that again,” Lor’themar dared him, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

“Knothead alpha.” Halduron’s defiance was enhanced by the ungentle tugs he made against Lor’themar’s grip.

Lor’themar wrapped the hank of hair around his fist like a leash. “Insolent whelp. Know your place!”

“Make me,” Halduron bit out, body taut and bent like a bow.

Blood thundering in his ears, Lor’themar wrenched Halduron’s neck even further back and fastened his teeth around the base, threatening to puncture the skin with his fangs. 

Halduron shivered beneath him. “Do it,” he goaded.

“Do not ask for something you are not prepared to receive,” Lor’themar rumbled against his neck.

“Do it,” Halduron hissed.

In this battle of wills, Lor’themar would _not_ back down. Blood rolled against his tongue as he sank his fangs into the skin just below Halduron’s hairline, hot and coppery and shocking. Alphas were not supposed to intimately mark other alphas. The assertion of a claim was perverse, taboo. There was no biological or social imperative for it. They had no mating gland to turn the pain into pleasure, no magic within them to create a bond between blood and saliva. Claiming bites were reserved for alphas and omegas committing to spend their lives together, a bond more sacred than marriage.

Biting Halduron was possibly the most transgressive act Lor’themar had ever performed in his life, and it felt _good_. Blood dripping down his neat little beard, one hand still holding the leash of Halduron’s hair, Lor’themar began to rut, began to _fuck_ , slamming his hips in and out to the song of Halduron’s overwhelmed cries. Any doubt about his decision fuzzed away into static as Halduron squeezed around him, as Halduron reached down and began to furiously pump his cock like the whole world existed entirely between his legs.

“Captain,” Halduron groaned. “Alpha.” Blood trickled down his back as pre-come dripped from his cock.

Yes. Yes. Lor’themar was his captain, was his alpha, was his superior, was his owner.

“Mine,” he growled, aching to bite him again.

“Yours,” Halduron moaned wetly, head tugging against Lor’themar’s hold on his hair as he sought to lean into his approaching orgasm. “Make me yours, alpha.” 

It was a thrill to hear those words from such a sonorous voice, such a contrast to his previous omega lovers, so soft and lovely.

Abandoning his leash, Lor’themar grasped Halduron’s hips with both hands, hard enough to bruise, one more tattoo for him to carry into the coming days. _Lor’themar Theron fucked me. These were his fangs, these were his fingers. He claimed me, owned me._

Powerful, virile, _desired_. After days of perceived rejection, confidence returned to him like a storm, tempestuous, torrential. Every thrust and roll of his hips was thunder, every jolt of pleasure lightning. He growled, he _rumbled_ , and Halduron beneath him cried out again and again as he was swept away by the deluge. 

“Lor –!” was all he could manage, voice breaking, and then he was convulsing, tightening around Lor’themar’s cock like a vise, thighs and belly tensed, shoulders heaving, head bowed. His cock jumped in his hand, spurting his seed in arcs onto the sheets.

Reaching between his legs, Lor’themar began to massage Halduron’s knot, squeezing rhythmically to simulate an omega orgasming around it. No alpha climax was fully satisfying without it, even if the pleasure had to be wrung by hand.

“Remember who gave you this,” Lor’themar growled, pressing Halduron’s torso down into the puddle of his own come on the mattress.

Dazed, Halduron moaned weakly, hair pooling around his shoulders, gold streaked with rust. The full-bodied groan he gave as Lor’themar smothered his body with his and began to fuck him again in earnest was provocative, primal, and once he began he could not stop, sensitive and overstimulated

“Knot me,” he demanded, half-delirious with pleasure. “Knot me, Lor.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He _couldn’t_.

 _Could_ not. _Would_ not.

No matter how much he wanted to.

No matter how good it would feel to join himself to Halduron in the most intimate way possible.

No matter how good it would feel to bury into his soft body and force him to stretch to breaking in the name of his pleasure.

They had discussed it before. _They had discussed it before_ , he forced himself to remember through the haze of approaching orgasm. It was certain to hurt him, no matter how he begged for it.

“You will take what you are given,” Lor’themar bit out, ever the responsible one, even on the cusp of letting go.

Still, as his pleasure crested, as his hips stuttered and his thighs tensed and his ears twitched, he imagined it. As he grasped and squeezed at his knot, he imagined it. Imagined being welcomed, being accepted. Imagined his true mate’s heart fluttering wildly as they came together, chosen, destined, a love signed and sealed in magic and blood. They were not here, it was not them beneath him, but their scent saturated his senses anyway, a phantom brought to the fore.

When it was over, when he slumped his full weight onto Halduron, guilt stabbed at him like the pain of his eye, now reasserting itself. He should not have been wishing for another, should not have used Halduron so. His true mate didn’t have a face, might not even exist, if he was honest with himself, but it felt wrong regardless.

Halduron stirred beneath him. “Feel better?”

“I...” Lor’themar hesitated.

“... thought about your true mate begging for your knot instead of me?” Lor’themar didn’t need to see Halduron’s grin to know it was there. “Pfft, like I’d be offended by that! You do you, Lor. I got a good fuck out of it.” He squeezed lazily around Lor’themar, who was still inside him. “So tell me: do you feel _better_?”

“By the light, yes.” The desperate thrum inside him was gone, his mind clear though exhausted. It was as though every ounce of his desperation and rejection had been poured into Halduron... which, in a manner of speaking, it had.

“Then I shall pronounce you cured, at least temporarily, and thus fit to welcome Prince Kael’thas when he arrives later today.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Oh, did I not mention that?” Halduron said sweetly. “That sour advisor of his wanted to talk security with you, but I told him he could wait on his ass until you’d had some _rest_. The Prince has kept us waiting, so I’m keeping his advisor waiting.”

“ _Halduron_.” Lor’themar groaned. “Rommath’s already unpleasant enough.” And the Sunwell only knew why. Lor’themar had been nothing but courteous and respectful, but the chill in the man’s eyes would not thaw. It would be a great relief to deal with his cousin from now on.

“True enough, but at least this way you won’t be a simmering hormonal wreck when you have to endure him now.”

“It wasn’t _that_ severe.”

“I beg to differ,” Halduron said, wriggling out from under him. “You _bit_ me. Not that I’m complaining – it was fucking hot – but you _bit_ me, Lor.”

Light, he had, hadn’t he?

“Are you hurt? Let me look at it.” At least he’d had the presence of mind not to knot him. They didn’t have the healers to spare.

Halduron waved his concern away. “It’s fine. Dress it for me while we bathe.” He looked down at his chest, smeared all over with the come Lor’themar had pushed him down into. “We’ll scrub ourselves up nicely for the Prince, and I’m sure we can fashion you an eyepatch out of something.”

“Do I look so very ghastly?”

“You are handsome as ever,” Halduron said chivalrously, “but I hear princes are easily shocked.” He winked. “Not like us Farstriders.” He glanced at the ragged scar decorating Lor’themar’s abdomen, from when he had almost been disemboweled. “You’ve done a good job of this, my friend. I’m proud of you.”

“And I you,” Lor’themar said softly. What had he done to deserve such a loyal, tenacious companion? Halduron could be headstrong at times, but Lor’themar often relied on his judgment, even if it was unconventional. Like sexual problem-solving. Now refreshed, he felt confident now that his troubles with his phantom true mate would eventually be solved. They had lived through the destruction of Silvermoon: they could live through this, too.

For now, he just had to survive another afternoon with Rommath.


	15. Chapter 15

It took Kael and his woefully small retinue four days to survey the damage to Quel’thalas as they travelled north from the Thalassian Pass. Rommath checked in on them often, the official liaison between the Prince and Lor’themar Theron, leader of the Silvermoon survivors. 

Which part had been his least favourite, Rommath couldn’t say.

Kael clearly wanted to talk to him, clearly needed a friend, but Rommath had no idea what to say, had no idea what he felt, and so their brief conversations were stilted, malformed. Sometimes he was angry, resentful. Others, regretful, yearning. Astalor, who had travelled with Kael from Dalaran, studiously ignored the both of them. The royal guard was forced to witness these painful displays in the name of security. Rommath always escaped as swiftly as possible.

There was nowhere to which he could escape, however. After he had burned the bodies of his father, sister, niece, nephew, and accompanying servants in the grounds of his family estate just outside Tranquilien, the only place to go was their crumbled townhouse in Silvermoon, but that was almost as haunted.

He had expected to feel relief that the man who had blighted his entire life was now gone, but he didn’t. For two hundred years his whole being had been clenched like a fist in self-defense, ready for danger, ready for combat on the battlefield of his perceived deviation – and now that he had relaxed it, Rommath’s hand felt empty, alien, clutching spasmodically at the threads of his life that had torn like his father’s flesh. Crisis no longer flowed through his veins, leaving him anemic but still on alert.

He deeply resented his new struggle with Lor’themar Theron, would not admit to being grateful for it, but, so used to fighting, to self-preservation, it was all Rommath knew how to do anymore.

Theron himself was unbearable. Unrelentingly positive, spouting platitudes about teamwork – Rommath couldn’t fathom how any of the survivors took him seriously. Give a ranger a fancy title and suddenly he’s fit to lead a city! He was popular with the survivors, but so would be any clod who knew how to smile. However Rommath felt about Kael – and the lack of insight into his feelings churned uneasily in his gut – he knew his prince would bring a much-needed sense of purpose to their people. Educated, cultured, brilliant, Kael would dazzle in a way that Lor’themar, earthy and scarred, did not.

Ridiculous, that he had been left waiting by that brash lackey of his, a golden-haired contradiction of feral beauty. Cheerful but with eyes that often did not smile, Halduron Brightwing clearly took great enjoyment in remaining just the safe side of impertinent when dealing with him. Clearly Theron had been gossiping, pouting about the lack of respect Rommath had been showing him, as though he deserved it just for being an alpha with a need to be in control.

He couldn’t leave the Bazaar – Kael would be arriving in a number of hours and, despite his personal grudge, Rommath trusted no one but Theron with the information – so he filled his time sitting in a reclaimed apothecary, brewing potions and mulling over the increasingly-disturbing energies of the Sunwell. Even non-magi could feel the wrongness of it. Rommath refused to voice his suspicions out loud until he could confer with Kael and Astalor in private: there would be dark days ahead, he was certain, but it was not his place to announce it.

What _was_ his place was informing Lor’themar Theron of the details of Kael’s arrival, which Theron deigned to allow him to fulfil a mere hour and a half beforehand. Rommath had learned to be humble as Belo'vir's apprentice, and had never wielded his noble background as a dagger like his father, but he was still an Archmage of the Kirin Tor and he was _not_ accustomed to waiting on Farstriders, even if they had been second in command to Sylvanas Windrunner.

(The internal suggestion that the anticipation might be making him anxious was preposterous and would not be tolerated.)

Rommath smelled him before he entered the building. Frowning and exhaling deeply through his nose as his stomach flipped and his heart beat faster, he very, very carefully put his alchemical flask down, though he badly wanted to clench his fist around it and shatter it into glittering shards. Each time since their initial meeting Rommath had had to hurry away to down a heat-suppressant potion. His body was beginning to associate Theron with going into heat; his mind was an icy thundercloud of hatred.

“My apologies,” Theron said from behind him, approaching Rommath’s workbench. “My deputy took it upon himself to delay informing me of your request to meet in favour of allowing me more rest.”

 _Your apologies? Your_ apologies _?!_ With his back to him, the only part of himself Rommath had to keep under control was his ears, which flicked only once, tightly. He did not want _apologies_. He wanted this assault on his body to _end_ , to be rid of this disgusting animal reflex that was growing more severe by the day.

As Rommath gathered himself, though, as he coolly stacked his papers and willed his heart to slow, he realised that something was different today. Theron had been smelling more and more like a newly-presented alpha, each meeting stronger and more disabling than the last, but now his scent was... calm. It was still as intoxicating as it had been the first time Rommath had ever experienced it, all those years ago, but there was no urgency to it, no blatant, demanding sexuality.

“Your deputy taking such liberties reflects badly on his leadership,” Rommath said, slowly facing Theron. The man had finally covered that appalling eye wound, though to Rommath’s chagrin his new, utilitarian eyepatch made him look handsome, in a rugged, dangerous sort of way. And despite his censure of Brightwing’s actions, the extra sleep had clearly done Theron a world of good. In what Rommath assumed was his finest, given the circumstances, he looked every inch a Farstrider commander, bright, alert, and, although he was loathe to admit it, extremely capable.

“The Farstriders are not so proud as the magisters,” Theron said. “In the field, rigidly following orders can be a detriment. Halduron’s judgment, reckless though it may sometimes seem, has saved countless lives. I stand by his decisions.” 

Though delivered politely, his assessment was clearly an indictment of the Magisterium. Rommath yearned to be outraged by it, but instead he was forced to admire Theron’s tact.

 _He is not_ entirely _half-witted, then._

_And not entirely incorrect, either._

Silvermoon’s magisters, as Belo’vir had so aptly described, were ruthless. To truly progress one had to be as skilled in politics and subterfuge as one was in the arcane. Nepotism often trumped talent, and the gossamer threads of centuries-old schemes were – had been – woven into the very fabric of Sunstrider Spire. The consequence of crossing the wrong superior by questioning orders could lead to very grave consequences indeed. Rommath had not missed it when he lived in Dalaran.

“Well,” Rommath huffed. “You are here now. Perhaps the lack of appropriate alacrity will confound our traitor.” He paused, considered. “Tell me. Why _does_ Prince Kael’thas trust you so?”

“Would that information not be of use to our traitor?”

Rommath glared at him, unable to discern between sauce and sincerity. “A silencing spell blankets this room.” He scoffed. “Of course a woodsman would be unable to detect such intricate workings.”

“In that case,” Lor’themar said graciously, “I am the Prince’s cousin by marriage. I have served as his confidante on occasion; I believe I am one of the few who will dare give him honest advice.”

Rommath froze. Blinked rapidly to disguise the widening of his eyes. Kael’s confidante. _Honest advice_. Kael had been clueless, and then he had accosted Rommath with nonsense about failing in his duty as an alpha in a misguided attempt at an apology. Had Kael gone to Theron after their devastating argument? Had Theron filled his head with those pitiful ideals? Convinced him that alphas could be anything other than socially-sanctioned rapists and that Rommath would welcome his effort to prove it?

His lungs were caving in. He needed air. So many things made sense now: why Kael’s clothes had occasionally brought home the lingering scent of Theron, why Kael had started spouting rhetoric from the omega rights movement. The man standing before him likely knew that Kael had an omega friend; did he know that that friend was masquerading as an alpha? Did he suspect Rommath? Would he attempt to expose him? All the talk of omega rights was just that: talk. It was always the same, had always been the same. Rommath was well-educated and history was unequivocal on the matter.

“Well, let us hope his faith in you is well-placed,” Rommath said brusquely. “He will be arriving within the next hour and a half, through the Magister’s Gate, with a small but select entourage. Have your people ready somewhere suitable for him to address the survivors: they will want to hear their prince... their king.”

“Indeed they will,” Theron said, thumbing at his beard, clearly freshly trimmed and oiled, a contrast to Rommath’s days-old stubble. “They have been clamouring for him.”

‘Clamouring’ was not quite the word, and they both knew it. Silvermoon’s survivors were confused and afraid and, increasingly, outraged that their prince had not yet deigned to make an appearance. They did not know him, Kael having spent half of his life outside the kingdom. He had already been seen as flighty and unpatriotic, and many remembered the libertine behaviour of his youth. 

Rommath had badly wanted to make an official announcement, informing the people that their prince cared _too_ much, that he had set his mind to seeing the damage to his kingdom first-hand, but the stark evidence of a traitor in their midst had stayed his hand. Ban’dinoriel should not have failed, _could_ not have failed – and even if it had, Silvermoon’s magisters could have powered the ancient barrier in shifts for as long as it took. Too many powerful members of the Convocation had been missing, even in such a time of confusion.

Silvermoon had fallen by means of intrigue. Rommath would not allow Kael to fall to the same knife.

“Ensure security is high,” Rommath snapped; no one but him was permitted to disparage Kael, even tactfully.

“I will protect him with my life.”

Rommath had no doubt that Theron was entirely sincere, and he hated him for it. What a joke of a man, so wholesome, so noble, so caught up in his own ideals that he couldn’t see the world for what it was. Besides his eye, Theron had clearly never suffered a day in his life.

“Let us hope it does not come to that,” Rommath said coldly, turning, dismissing him. He had had as much of Theron as he could stand, both mentally and physically. Experience had shown that he would have to take another suppression potion imminently, that he would be carving off yet another unknown amount of his life. An irony, really, preserving his own life by hastening the end of it.

Theron’s scent lingered and his footsteps did not sound.

“Well?” Rommath demanded, high ponytail swinging as he whipped his head around to face the malingering Farstrider.

Theron opened his mouth, looked as though he would spout more platitudes, but then pressed his lips together and shook his head, clearly realising that Rommath was entirely disinterested in speaking to him.

“I shall send for you when our scouts see him approach,” he said instead.

Rommath scoffed. “I am aware of the prince’s movements. Concentrate your efforts on your own people.”

Theron bowed. “Until later,” he said, with a peevishness that pleased Rommath immensely. The man _could_ be needled, then. His scent _could_ be made to flare – even if infinitesimally – in irritation. The man currently plaguing his life had a temper after all, was just a normal man, not some larger-than-life hero.

As Theron left, Rommath’s pleasure faded, however. His evident need to justify his dislike was concerning. If he needed a reason beyond the effect of Theron’s pheromones, it meant...

No. _No_. He refused to even countenance it. There was nothing to admit. Nothing to accept. It was all a fairytale that alphas abused and omegas, hoping for a better life, desperately wanted to be true.

Looked at logically, it was likely that Theron had the effect on him that he did because their genetic material was a good match, as distasteful as that was. That was all; nothing more.

The effect hadn’t even been as strong today. Rommath had expected a need for heat suppressants, but although he was flustered his body didn’t seem to be readying itself for Theron like before. Perhaps it had given up in the face of Rommath’s iron will? Had it decided to no longer waste resources on preparing for a mating that would not occur? It felt suspicious – he had learned to always expect the worst – but there was no time to investigate. He would just have to accept it and be, if not satisfied, then at least grateful.

Without the threat of a heat, Rommath’s only tasks would be to bathe and re-apply his scent blockers and synthetic alpha scent. 

Which was fortunate, because it would give him the time necessary to work out how he was going to remain covert in the presence of both Theron _and_ Kael. It was one big, obnoxious cosmic joke that the only two people he had ever truly experienced attraction to were both too important to avoid.

 

* * *

 

Lor’themar stood to attention in the square by the Magister’s Gate, Prince Kael’thas’s arrival imminent. Never had he been more grateful for Halduron’s judgment: not only would an alpha on the verge of rut have been distressing or uncomfortable for the gathered omega survivors, but an accident of happenstance had also placed Rommath right next to him in the front of the crowd. Without his earlier release he would be sorely lacking the patience required to deal with his unsettling intensity and unnecessary coldness.

For reasons known only to him, Rommath clearly disliked him. Why, Lor’themar could not fathom – he had been unrelentingly polite even in the face of caustic remarks and blatant disdain – but it was exhausting during a time when everyone should be banding together. Perhaps it really was as simple as resentment of a Farstrider having assumed control, but that seemed petty in the extreme when they both knew that Kael’thas would soon be unburdening him of leadership.

Their interaction earlier had hopefully been their last. Whatever existed between them was a broken, poisonous thing, and Lor’themar had always had a compulsion to mend broken things, even if they could not be mended, even if there was no acknowledgement that anything – or anyone – was broken. He had faltered for a moment, almost daring to ask whether Rommath was feeling strange too, whether he knew anything about the Sunwell’s transformation possibly affecting their hormonal biology, but he’d known instantly that Rommath would not permit him that intimacy even if he did, and so he had left instead.

Lor’themar glanced at him, unsure whether to be pleased that Rommath was standing on his good side. He had no desire for further conversation – a sentiment they clearly both shared – but on the whole he decided he’d rather have a potential detractor where he could see him. 

And while they stood there, waiting for Kael’thas, he _did_ see him.

The high, tight ponytail that emphasised his jawline, currently darkened with stubble. The red and gold scarf he wore around his neck despite the lack of chill in the air. The deliberately powerful posture, shoulders back, feet apart, back straight even though they had been waiting for a while now.

And, above all, the watchful, defensive look in his eyes as he caught Lor’themar looking at him.

_So this is why he hates me._

If Lor’themar hadn’t been so tired, so busy, he would have seen it sooner, would have seen Rommath sooner. In his years as a lieutenant and then as a ranger lord he had become adept at spotting ambitious omegas who were trying to pass as betas. He had helped them, all of them, though not every tale had been a happy one. And, although he had never, as far as he was aware, met one masquerading as an alpha, he was sure of it now – that Rommath was an omega.

Everything about his appearance looked studiously chosen. The scarf – that would be additional insurance against the mating glands in the hollows of his collar bones becoming visible and any extra-intense pheromones that might break through due to the stress of their current situation. How Rommath was making himself smell like an alpha Lor’themar was unsure, but...

Another glance, this time towards the great Magister’s Gate, and Lor’themar realised what he was missing, what he should have already deduced. Kael’thas had had an omega friend who had successfully disguised himself as an alpha for centuries. They had spoken at length about him. And Rommath, Kael’thas’s advisor, had left Dalaran to apprentice himself to Grand Magister Belo’vir last year, according to Halduron, who spent his brief breaks gossiping. Had he fled? Had his old life in Dalaran been ruined? Lor’themar grimaced as he considered what often happened to omegas who had been raped while they were in heat.

He might be wrong on both counts, he knew; perhaps Rommath was merely a fellow alpha who had taken an unwarranted dislike to him, or perhaps Rommath was an omega but not _Kael’s_ omega. But Lor’themar did not think so. His instinct rarely let him down.

It was no wonder that Rommath had been so cold. An alpha in a position of power like Kael’thas, Lor’themar must seem to him, if not a threat, then a promise of one. Another violation to be feared, especially after the debacle that had been his trial introduction of omegas into the Farstriders. Far from the egalitarian utopia he had envisioned, it had caused more misery than his heart knew how to cope with. Great numbers of the new recruits had been raped on patrol by their alpha partners, and _they_ had been blamed for it. Not the alphas who hadn’t controlled themselves, but the poor omegas who had only wanted a life of adventure in the forests. Lor’themar’s name had not been widely released in connection with it – Sylvanas had considered him too good a ranger to have his career derailed – but it was no wonder that Rommath was wary of the Farstriders.

Deeply uncomfortable, Lor’themar attempted to surreptitiously step away from Rommath, to give him more space. Rommath noticed, of course, shot him a look of disdain, but thankfully left it at that, resuming his vigil, waiting for Kael’thas.

During their discussion, Lor’themar had told Kael’thas that he wished he could meet his remarkable omega friend. He had not imagined that their meeting would cause the poor man such fear, such discomfort.

 _Better if we had never crossed paths,_ he thought.

And what of Kael’thas? Rommath was here waiting, his loyal servant, but there was nothing of happiness in him. He never had asked his cousin what he had decided to do after their talk. It was entirely possible that the man next to him was friendless and afraid, in a time when that was truly a horror. Their people needed to band together now more than ever, but who was there for Rommath?

Well. In a matter of minutes it was likely that Rommath would no longer have to fear Lor’themar, at least. It would be a kindness, however perverse it felt, to avoid him from now on. He cringed at how he had nearly asked Rommath if he felt anything strange happening with his intimate biology. How cruel that would have been! Rommath’s scent _had_ been ‘off’, but now that Lor’themar was certain he was actually an omega, it made perfect sense. 

For a moment, he considered his phantom true mate, the scent that flitted in and out of his senses like a fey butterfly. He had first caught it after his initial meeting with Rommath – had smelled it every meeting since, in fact. Heart racing, he forced himself not to look over at him. Could it be? Could his destined love be the proud, defensive man stood next to him?

But no. No. He was clutching desperately, feebly at hope. Today the pheromones had been entirely absent, even while they had been standing here together for over half an hour. Perhaps he really was going mad. No one ever spurned their true mate, even omegas like Rommath. The calling was just too strong.

Troubled, discouraged – as the trumpets finally surrounded for Kael’thas’s arrival, Lor’themar found himself thinking it was for the best that he would soon be relieved of his responsibilities.


	16. Chapter 16

King Anasterian’s funeral would begin within the hour. Kael was outwardly calm, but Rommath, who had spent two centuries by his side, could smell his grief and burgeoning panic even as he controlled it for others.

It was shameful, then, that Rommath, perhaps the only one who could provide his prince with some measure of solace, was hiding in a broom cupboard on the top floor of the inn after disappearing without a word.

Completely nude, sitting on the cold, hard floor, he gulped great mouthfuls of water from a flask, fearing he might faint. He had survived hours of Theron and Kael together without giving himself away, had remained as poised and dignified as any advisor should be, but he was paying the price now, as he had known he would.

Encasing his entire body in an almost undetectable scent and pheromone barrier had been an exquisite showcase of his talents – a shame, really, that the whole purpose was that no one would ever know. A shame, too, that it took so much energy to weave and maintain the spell. Another few minutes and Rommath might have fainted for real, overheated and drained of mana. And that mana was a cause for concern in its own right: it was imperative that he speak to Kael after the funeral to discuss his suspicions about the Sunwell’s energies.

Sitting nude against the wall, chin on his knees, threatened to bring back memories of the last time he had suffered in this position, on that terrible morning with Kael. He tamped them down, angry. He was stronger than this. He wasn’t afraid, just tired. Tired of always having to go the extra mile just to live his life, whatever that was worth. And he couldn’t rest for long: missing King Anasterian’s funeral would be unforgivable by any metric. As soon as he no longer felt faint, as soon as his skin had had time enough to breathe, he would have to reapply his scent blockers, recast his spell, re-don his clothes, and then reapply his alpha scent directly onto the fabric... it was exhausting just thinking about it.

Not for the first time, Rommath considered just revealing himself to Theron and daring the man to act as he would, but no, Rommath had more dignity than that. As much as he could manage, he would remain in control of his own destiny. Not that he believed in destiny. Destiny was a lazy concept to absolve oneself of responsibility for one’s own life. Destiny lead to foolish, saccharine concepts like true mates. Rommath would forge his own path, with no need for support from alphas.

Eventually, Rommath hauled himself up and wearily set about the process of turning himself into an alpha once more. Wearing clothes again made him feel stronger, more like himself, more secure. He was so rarely naked – only for bathing – and he was always on high alert for the duration. Even during the sweltering depths of midsummer he slept in light robes and tight, scent-dampening shorts.

Maintaining the spell for the funeral would take the very last dregs of his energy. He had a few mana-infused crystals on his person for an emergency, but if his theory about the Sunwell’s tainted power was correct, it would be better by far to push himself beyond his limits and suffer afterwards than to squander valuable pure mana.

If his theory was correct, enduring more time with Theron and Kael together would be by far the most pleasant thing he would experience in the coming days.

 _At least I am used to suffering_ , he thought, not entirely bitterly, as he cracked the cupboard door open to check the way was clear as though he were some common criminal.

Halfway down the stairs to the second floor, Rommath caught Theron’s scent and froze, fingers curled around the bannister like claws. Could he not have _one_ moment free of this man? He had been counting on slipping out of the inn and recuperating alone in a quiet corner of the square until it was time to take his place as part of Kael’s retinue. Conversation now would tire him, and conversation was only the least of it. The closer Theron came, the more Rommath could feel his scent glands heating, stifled against the barrier he was maintaining at such cost. 

To his chagrin, his glands were not the only thing heating. Ears, cheeks... thank the Light he was wearing his scarf so that no one would see the developing flush on his neck. Earlier Theron’s pheromones had been calmer than previous days, but they were becoming stronger again now, more potent, more urgent. More delicious.

_Does he...?_

Rommath’s grip on the bannister tightened. Had Theron scented him despite the sealing spell he had cast on the closet? Was he sniffing out the source? Did he know it was Rommath he was seeking? With Kael being too free in what he confided, and the way Theron had been looking at him before Kael’s arrival, pity written large in his single brown eye, Rommath had to assume that he had guessed at least part of his secret.

_Kael, you bastard._

Rommath wasn’t as angry as he thought he’d be, however; Kael had only wanted to mend his relationship with him. In a perfect world, Rommath and Theron would never have met, and certainly not been pressed together in such proximity for days.

“Archmage Rommath!” Theron’s greeting was irritatingly hearty as he rounded the corner, his broad smile not reaching his eye. The look of insincerity did not suit him at all.

“Theron.” Rommath looked down his nose at him from halfway up the stairs, disdain a mask for fear and arousal. His omega scent had definitely leaked from the closet – Theron’s pheromones were torturing him now, kindling an unholy longing that was threatening to develop into yet another heat. How much more of this could his body take?

“I was hoping to find you before the ceremony. There is an issue we should discuss in private before you hear it from someone else.”

Fear squeezed like a fist around Rommath’s heart. In private? Did Theron think that Rommath was his true mate? Did he intend to seduce him? Or just take advantage of an ‘easy’ omega who wouldn’t dare report him after?

“Whatever it is, you will tell me now.”

“It is not easy news to hear –”

“You will tell me _now_.” 

“It concerns the three vessels that set sail for the Hinterlands on the day of the attack,” Theron said quietly, fixing him with the same damnable look of pity from earlier.

Rommath’s eyes widened; his hand fell from the bannister. _The children..._

“Upstairs,” Theron said softly. For a moment it seemed as though he would touch Rommath’s arm, but he took hold of the bannister instead, for which Rommath was supremely grateful. In this state of shock it was all he could manage to stay upright, to slowly ascend the stairs, to not let his brimming tears fall.

“In here,” Rommath said gruffly, opening the door to a room on a corridor far, far from the broom cupboard. The entire top floor was empty – the survivors were all clustered together for comfort and safety – so the room was cool and blessedly quiet. Sinking down onto a plush violet and gold divan, Rommath set his jaw and stared at Theron, daring him to pity him again.

Theron sat opposite him, hands on his knees, the shadows from the half-closed curtains bringing his frown lines into sharp relief. “Galell spoke for the first time today after washing up on the Azurebreeze coast the day after the attack.” 

Galell, the priest who had accompanied the nearly one hundred children Rommath had been in charge of evacuating onto boats.

“He... they... they were attacked by flying monstrosities off the northeastern headland. Galell was the only survivor.”

The only survivor. Rommath had sent nearly one hundred of Silvermoon’s most precious citizens to a terrifying death on the sea, screaming and crying until they had had no more air left to breathe.

“It was not your fault, of course,” Lor’themar said, so gently that Rommath wanted to thump him.

“Of course it was my fault!” Rommath cried, agitated, overcome, furious that Theron thought he needed platitudes and false reassurances. “ _I_ put them on the boats. They were _my_ charge. If I had sailed _with_ them I could have –”

“Then you would have met the same fate, and Silvermoon would be missing another soul.”

He was shaking. The barrier encasing his skin was going to fail, just like he had failed all those innocent children and the parents who loved them. Rommath would never be able to settle down, never be able to have pups of his own, and now he had killed a whole generation. The streets would be silent for decades to come.

“I...” Theron was clearly grasping at words that were as slippery as Rommath’s shame. Shame that was evidently leaking out of his very pores, for Theron’s scent was full of the alpha need to comfort a distressed omega, to relieve and soothe.

Rommath did not want to be relieved and soothed. Not by Lor’themar, not by anyone. He wanted to rage and cry and grieve in private, in his own manner, not with some Farstrider alpha thinking himself the only thing that could possibly comfort him.

Theron, as he had suspected, seemed not the least bit surprised by the omega pheromones in the room. If Rommath weren’t desperately pulling from the mana crystals in his pocket his scent would be completely defeating his barrier; as it was, his synthetic alpha scent, soon to be overwhelmed, was the only thing masking his scent enough for Theron to not recognise him as his true mate. And he was going into _heat_...

“Leave me,” Rommath commanded, horrified by how his voice trembled, more horrified still by the prospect of Theron actually doing so. What did he want? What did he _want_? If Theron stayed, if he went, either way Rommath would be met by a yawning pit of grief beneath his feet. He hated the man, but right now he hated himself more.

“If you... if that is what you desire.” The deep breath Theron took was almost as shaky as Rommath’s. “Please know that I would aid you in any way you wish.”

“What aid could you possibly provide me?” Rommath demanded. They both knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Theron say it, wanted to force this suspiciously gallant man to make himself as vulnerable as he was. 

Theron’s ears flushed and he swallowed, adam’s apple drawing Rommath’s attention to his strong jaw and then up to his wide mouth, lips pressed together as he contemplated his reply.

“Soothing touch, largely.” Theron stood, looked towards the door, then back at Rommath. “Alphas can bring great comfort to omegas. Have you experienced it?” His gentle tone, clearly intended to be kind, made Rommath burn with humiliation. How dare he make assumptions about Rommath’s life! As though he, as a male omega, could never have experienced kindness before! As though Theron were offering it as a gift, as a gesture of pity, a single highlight in his cold, lonely life.

And he was _right_ , damn him. He was right. Rommath had never been held when he needed comfort, never been stroked when he was too proud to let himself sob. The only time he had ever been touched at all was that terrible night with Kael, so pleasurable but so violating. 

Everything was twisting in his brain, so that all he felt was guilt and repulsion and fear and _longing_ , so much longing, too much to possibly contain, not when he had sent children to their deaths and his hormones were crashing and this man, this stupid, ridiculous man, was being _kind_ to him.

He wanted to bite back with something caustic, repel this man with words intended to hurt, to offend. But he had no words. Just a pathetic wet sound as he opened his mouth and found it full of saliva, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as his lips trembled and his nostrils tightened and his eyes filled with tears. The shock of discovering the fate of the children in his care had thrown him out of heat, had stopped the process dead. Such grief did not indicate a safe environment for such vulnerability. No wonder he was shaming himself, teetering on the verge of collapse.

And Theron, Theron, Lor’themar. He crossed the room in three purposeful strides and sat, on the divan, with just enough space between them that, if he wished it, Rommath could inch up and close the gap. Could rest his head on his shoulder and ease into him, or just press against him and invite those large, warm hands to soothe the tumult of unpleasant chemicals flooding his system. Lor’themar’s whole body radiated warmth and concern, both in manner and in scent, an alpha putting his all into tending to a skittish, grief-stricken omega, afraid that they might flee. 

Humiliated, Rommath wanted to deny it, any of it, but he was crying now, for the lives that had been lost, for the life he would never have, for the lives he would never make. Even if – _if!_ – Lor’themar was his true mate, he did not want him, did not want to be shackled to an alpha like a slave, even if said alpha _was_ kind. They had nothing in common, were entirely unsuitable. Rommath did not even like him.

But Lor’themar’s alpha pheromones were speaking to him. Coaxing him in a primal, wordless language, one so ancient and instinctual that even Rommath, compromised as he was, could not withstand. All his willpower was being channelled into maintaining his barrier spell, riding the perilously fine line between exhausting himself and preventing Lor’themar from experiencing his whole, unadulterated scent profile. There was no fight left in him, only sorrow and anger so great that he felt he would be sick.

Slowly, slowly, Rommath relaxed his head onto Lor’themar’s broad shoulder, heart thundering. He flinched at the alien sensation but settled back down, Lor’themar’s bulk warm and reassuring. Soft skin and cornsilk hair against his ear, the sensation of another living creature breathing in and out next to him... it was possibly the most beautiful moment of Rommath’s life, marred though it was by tears and snot and misery.

“May I touch you?” Lor’themar murmured. Rommath could feel the tension in his arm as he restrained himself until given permission.

If he denied him, he could keep at least some shred of his dignity. But what use was dignity when he was already crying, already shaming himself? Dignity was a cold thing, and Lor’themar was warm, so very warm. 

Not trusting his voice, Rommath nodded against Lor’themar’s shoulder and then, realising this was ambiguous, shuffled an inch across the divan, pressing their bodies together.

 _Oh. Oh._ Cuddled into Lor’themar’s side, Lor’themar’s hand gently, reverently stroking his hair, Rommath’s chest shook with repressed sobs. Such a simple touch. It should be nothing, mean nothing. How could it feel so good, so right, when he didn’t want it and didn’t deserve it?

(He did want it. Badly. More than anything he had ever wanted before.)

Lor’themar was making vague soothing sounds with that impossibly rich voice of his, smooth as melted chocolate. Still stroking Rommath’s hair, he reached with his other hand to take Rommath’s, squeezing it tightly. Did it bother him that it was nearly of a size with his? Did it remind him that Rommath was not small and lovely, was not female at all? Apparently not, for the desire to heal and protect was as strong on his scent as ever.

The hand in his hair disappeared; for a cold moment Rommath felt bereft, wondered if the man beside him had finally come to his senses. But no, Lor’themar’s arm snaked around his waist, drawing him even closer, and Rommath wondered how it was that he could feel every single one of his muscles relax even as his heart beat painfully against his ribs. Was the power of touch just that strong, or was Lor’themar really his...?

No. _Ridiculous_. A simple physiological reaction, that was all. Alpha and omega, designed to complement one another. _That’s all_ _we are,_ Rommath told himself, even as he lifted his head from Lor’themar’s shoulder and looked into his eye, saw the depth of emotion there, the deep well of caring. He didn’t know what Lor’themar would see in his, dark and glassy with tears. Conflicted, overcome, mourning.

Full of longing.

Full of arousal.

Rommath’s lips were on Lor’themar’s before he even recognised the impulse. They were hot, almost burning, his neat little beard oiled and smooth. The noise Lor’themar made deep in his throat spurred Rommath on, emboldened him – he parted his lips, experimentally touched his tongue to Lor’themar’s mouth, and then they were kissing, _kissing_ , sweet and healing, sultry and revelatory. Lor’themar’s hand was as gentle on his cheek as the arm holding him against him was not. For a man with an eyepatch he was stunningly romantic; despite himself Rommath found himself swooning.

Kissing Kael had been carnal, almost entirely sexual. Rommath had enjoyed it immensely at the time, but this was something else. Something pure and bright in a world that was anything but.

 _Impossible,_ he thought, even as his eyelids fluttered and he kissed Lor’themar as though he were drowning, passion laced with fear and desperation and a pounding desire for survival. _This is not real, this is only chemicals, only weakness._

But he didn’t _feel_ weak. Exhausted, wrung-out, still leaking grief, but not weak. Lor’themar’s generous mouth and clever tongue gave him strength. Lor’themar’s warm hand stroking down his back gave him strength, soothing and stimulating the small scent glands down his spine. Good, good, it felt so hopelessly good to be in this alpha’s arms, his true mate’s arms, to allow him to care for him, to heal his hurts.

A moan escaped from him as Lor’themar’s hand traced down his spine to the scent gland at its base and rubbed it, a bold gesture that had nevertheless perhaps been earned. It sent warmth to his belly and fire to his loins, and – 

And at that moment his barrier shattered.

Slumping against Lor’themar’s side, Rommath felt dizzy, faint. He had exhausted all of his reserves and it had still not been enough. Foolish, so foolish to have indulged his instincts over his intellect.

“It is _you_ ,” Lor’themar marvelled, taking Rommath’s hand once more, squeezing it hard enough to make Rommath intimately aware of his bones. “I had thought... I had hoped...”

“It is _nothing_ ,” Rommath managed to bite out, snatching his hand back. Lor’themar’s scent was already changing, sharpening, descending into the rut that would come from having scented his true mate this strongly for the first time: Rommath had to get ahead of it, chase him away before their baser instincts got the better of them both. He would _not_ be claimed, would _not_ be owned.

“‘Nothing’ could never be so beautiful.”

Flinching, Rommath pulled himself away, heart hammering, face slightly damp still. “Save those honeyed words for somebody who wants you.”

Lor’themar’s chest was rising and falling heavily; his lips parted in distress. “I know you are afraid... please, let me know what will assuage your fears.”

“You know _nothing_ about me,” Rommath hissed, almost shocked by his own vehemence. “And you can do nothing for me but leave and never trouble me again.”

Ears wilting, Lor’themar drew in on himself, making his body smaller, less threatening. Rommath seethed with anger that he thought he needed coddling, needed a gentle hand.

“Then let me know you? Allow me to court you on _your_ terms?” Lor’themar was pleading. Rommath had thought he would find satisfaction in that, but he felt only consternation that this proud ranger was so addled by hormones that he was desperate for _Rommath_. Literally anybody else would be a better choice, a better match, a better mate. And yet Lor’themar was futilely trying key after key in the lock of Rommath’s heart, not knowing that that key had been melted in the crucible of Rommath’s despair a year and a half ago in Dalaran. 

“There are no terms that could possibly satisfy me. I will not be shackled, I will _not_ submit.” Rommath stood, fists clenched, then sat back down heavily as his knees buckled from mana exhaustion and the great toll the turbulence of his hormones had exacted upon him. It was humiliating, having to rely on Theron to do as he was bid and leave. All of this was humiliating, and for what? A brief kiss and a cuddle? How could he have possibly thought that he could have even something small without a heavy price to be exacted? Grief or not, he had unforgivably betrayed himself.

“Not all alphas wish for submission.” Lor’themar’s voice was gentle, even as his scent became more acute, cutting the air and filling Rommath’s lungs with his lust. “I would... I would have you any way you allowed me. Equal partners, a marriage built on respect.”

“Equality? Respect?” Rommath’s lip curled even as he sagged against the arm of the divan, completely drained. “You’ll treat me well until you knock me up, and then I’ll never leave the house again. If you are intent on respecting me, then do as I ask and _leave_. I do not want you, Theron. I do not want a mate, I do not want marriage, and I most certainly do not want your pups. All I want is for you to leave me alone.”

“I cannot leave you here exhausted and hurting,” Lor’themar protested.

“You can and you will. No one will disturb me until after the funeral, by which point I will have regained my strength. So leave. Attend the prince and give him my regrets.”

Lor’themar stood, looked helplessly at him. “Rommath...”

“I _said_ leave!” First Kael, and now Lor’themar. Alphas were all the same; boundaries did not matter to them until he was screaming.

“As you wish.” The anguish in Lor’themar’s voice almost – almost – made Rommath want to invite him to sit back down. “But know this: I had not dared to hope to find love again in my life, let alone my true mate. I will wait for you, for as long as it takes. Whatever you would have of me, I will gladly give it. Whenever you need me, I will be there.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “Please, allow me to show you that not all alphas are selfish brutes.”

Rommath closed his eyes so that he did not have to see the naked pleading on Lor’themar’s face, usually rugged, now broken. _He_ had done this, reduced this proud alpha to pathetic begging. It was grotesque, abhorrent.

_You do not know what you wish for._

“I will bear that in mind,” he said finally, dredging up his most haughty expression. “You are dismissed.”

Lor’themar’s scent as he left was physically painful for Rommath; omegas needed to comfort anguished alphas just as much as alphas needed to comfort omegas. It was all the more harrowing because the misery was his doing entirely. He could call him back, recant his words, enfold him in his arms like Lor’themar had done for him...

But he couldn’t, shouldn’t, _didn’t_ want that. He hated him, and besides: wanting was for other people... never for him.


	17. Chapter 17

Rommath didn’t know what time it was when he awoke, curled up on the divan and covered with a blanket. The room seemed to be lit by a gentle magelight, though he would have to roll over to find out, a momentous undertaking for his innervated body. Nothing hurt, strictly, but his mana reserves were weak and his earlier grief-induced hormone crash had flushed his system and left him with an adrenaline hangover, wobbly as a newly-hatched hawkstrider chick.

The blanket had not been there when he’d passed out, nor the light. His heart jolted; had Theron returned? No, if he were in the room there would be far far more than just a trace of his scent, and Rommath would have gone back into heat by now. Perhaps Theron had left them for him? But a Farstrider remotely maintaining a magelight for possibly hours was supremely improbable.

“You’re awake,” a familiar voice said softly. Rommath heard the sound of a book being placed on a table.

“Kael?” It sounded like Kael, he _knew_ it was Kael, but he didn’t smell like Kael, or like an alpha at all. Groaning, Rommath rolled over, used the arm of the divan to hoist himself up to an approximation of a sitting position, and gazed blearily at his prince – his friend. Though his cerulean eyes were filled with a kingdom’s worth of sorrow, he was the same old Kael as always – golden hair, fey beauty, an aura of unfathomable brilliance. 

Although it seemed unlikely, Rommath found himself feeling relieved. Of all the people who could be sitting in this room with him, Kael was perhaps the best. Theron would be complicated and humiliating; he and Astalor were still not on speaking terms; and anyone who wasn’t a beta would learn that he was an omega.

“Lor’themar told me what happened,” Kael said. “I came to watch over you as soon as I could get away. Don’t worry,” he added, “I teleported here from my own rooms. No one will be looking for us here.”

Rommath gave a huff of gratitude. Kael had always known how he valued his privacy (and even respected it, most of the time), and clearly understood now more than ever. “What did he claim happened?” He didn’t intend to sound so defensive, but there was so _much_ Theron could have said.

“That hearing some terrible news broke you out of an unanticipated heat, that you collapsed.” Kael looked at him from under lowered lids, whispered conspiratorially: “I think he fancies you – I’ve never seen him more concerned. Frantic, really.”

“Likely because he feels responsible, nothing more.”

Kael hummed dubiously. “He certainly smelled like he fancies you. You could do worse: he’s handsome and kind, and whew, you should see him shirtless...”

“Do _not_.” Rommath’s laser glare, intended to shut down the conversation, instead made Kael laugh.

“Okay, okay, no more talk of matchmaking. I don’t want to overtax your eyebrows before you’re even fully upright.”

Maybe it was because he was so tired, maybe it was because Kael did not smell like his usual alpha self, but Rommath was finding that his bitterness towards Kael was largely absent tonight. It almost felt like old times, Kael teasing and poking at him, finding sport in his cantankerous reactions. He had missed this.

“Speaking of being overtaxed... what did you _do_ to yourself, Rom? Lor’themar won’t have known, but I can see how depleted your mana is.” Frowning, Kael leaned forwards, peered at him. “Depleted and peculiar.”

“It’s the Sunwell. I’ve been studying it these past few days and there’s something... unsavoury about its energies.” Rommath closed his eyes, slowed his breathing, looked deep inside himself. “I didn’t think it would affect me so much so quickly, but...”

“But you did something ill-advised.”

“Something _essential_ ,” Rommath snapped, though weakly, like an offended kitten. “My biology has not been kind; I had to prevent discovery while awaiting your arrival.” Cheeks flushed, his glare dared Kael to comment.

“So you exhausted yourself in the name of duty? You should have gone to rest, Rom.” Kael sighed.

“I am your servant, my prince – my _king_. Now in these dark times more than ever.” Where had these words come from? After he had fled Dalaran he had still considered himself Kael’s servant, but the self-imposed title had become more of a burden than a privilege. Now he felt glad again: glad to have a purpose, but also glad that he was back with his friend, back in their familiar dynamic. It was comforting after the tumult of his grief, after his moment of extreme weakness with Theron.

Kael closed his eyes, exhaled wearily. “Not ‘king’. Please. I’m not... I’m not ready for it, Rom. I’m not _worthy_ of it. My father tried to prepare me and I didn’t listen. I thought I had time. I thought my studies were more important. And now a whole country is suffering because of my selfishness. I should have _been_ here.” Kael’s voice cracked, his eyes moist with misery. “I could have protected my father, stopped Arthas –” 

“Stop,” Rommath rasped. “You were not to know that _this_ would happen. That Menethil would march an undead army to our gates, that a traitor would let them in... it was beyond the purview of even the most talented of scryers. And your presence, strong though you are, would only have led to your death.”

Privately, Rommath was not entirely certain of this. Belo’vir had kept him from the fighting, so he had not witnessed Arthas’s strange new powers for himself, but Kael was of the Council of _Six_ , and Anasterian, though old, had held his own for a good while. If only he and Belo’vir had formulated their plan sooner... would Anasterian still have died? Would the Sunwell still be tainted?

“Better I had died protecting the Sunwell and my father than returned untouched to a ruined kingdom to face a people who barely know me,” Kael said bitterly. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he slumped back in his chair. “I don’t mean that, of course, not truly, but... _light_ , Rom, I’m afraid. Everyone is looking to me for answers, and I have none. I know nothing.”

“If you think you know nothing then you’re a fool,” Rommath said, forcing himself to sit up straight despite his protesting muscles. “The Farstriders have been competently handling the essential needs of the city. What they _can’t_ do is mend the Sunwell. This is your job, Kael. I will help you – I will always help you – but this is your calling.”

Kael nodded to himself, pursing his lips. “Yes. You are right, of course. There is no time for wallowing. We must investigate the Sunwell and worry about other matters later.”

“You would be within your princely rights to allot a small amount of time to wallowing,” Rommath said. “We will accomplish nothing worthwhile tonight, and you have spent the time you should have been grieving watching over me instead. You should be in the bar with friends, toasting your father.”

“Nothing could have been a better use of my time than protecting you.”

Rommath wanted to bristle at that, but he _had_ needed protecting this time. And, worn out as he was in both body and mind, it actually felt good to be cared for. Perhaps he was allowing it because Kael didn’t smell like an alpha?

“Is that why I can’t smell you?” he asked, more brusquely than he’d intended. “To protect me?”

Kael cringed. “Not in those words, but yes. I didn’t want to disturb your sleep or alarm you when you woke. I thought blocking my scent would... put us on neutral ground.”

“Mm.” Rommath’s brow furrowed. Again, his hackles were ready to raise, but Kael did have a point. He had awoken naturally, with no panic, no... flashbacks.

Kael hesitated. “Watching over you has been a marvellous distraction from my sorrow, but the blockers will wear off soon. So, if you would rather I go –”

“No,” Rommath said sharply, then, more softly, “no. I am not so delicate as all that.” _Not with you. Not anymore._ “I will not bid you leave, though I warn you, I am likely to be poor company.”

“You could never be poor company, Rom. Never.” Kael’s open passion brought colour to Rommath’s cheeks. “There are no words for how I have missed you.”

“I have missed you too,” Rommath admitted. Apparently this was a day of lowered defences, caused by hormones, grief and exhaustion. Though while getting closer to Theron had been a humiliating weakness, being honest with Kael did not feel so very egregious. His presence now was a comfort: had he finally forgiven him? The only way to truly find out, it seemed, was to spend some time with him when he smelled like an alpha again.

“Are you hungry?” Kael asked, concern written large on his face. “Thirsty? I can take you to my suite to convalesce in privacy, if you don’t object to being alone with me.”

Rommath huffed. “I’m already alone with you – and I haven’t yet called for a chaperone. Take me where you will and stop fussing.”

Truthfully, Kael had every reason to be treating him so carefully, and although Rommath did not care to admit it, he would be just as irritated, if not more so, if Kael were acting as though nothing had ever happened. It was ungracious and unfair to call him out on it, but the hesitation and over-solicitousness chafed, and Rommath, despite his will to cleave to rationality, was not above pettiness. They could be friends again, he thought, but Kael had not _quite_ earned back the right to easy familiarity.

When Kael took hold of his arm to teleport them to his rooms, Rommath marvelled at how banal the end of an era could be. He felt neither sick nor excited to be touched so, and he felt not at all bereft of those two centuries of desire. Kael was attractive, to be sure – nothing would change _that_ – but his touch was merely that: a touch. His natural scent hadn’t yet reasserted itself, but Rommath was almost entirely certain that his heart wouldn’t be fluttering like it once had.

 _Not like it does with Lor’themar Theron_. (An insidious whisper. Like the call of the void. A cliff to stride away from, fists balled, jaw set. He would not jump, not today.)

“Make yourself comfortable,” Kael said as they arrived in his bedchamber, steadying Rommath as he swayed. “I’ll send for food, and clean clothes, and anything else you may desire.” Worrying his lower lip, he glanced around the room. “I’d sit us down in my receiving room, but I think it prudent to keep you hidden.”

“I said, stop fussing,” Rommath grumbled. “I know you’re not going to ravish me.”

Kael pulled a magnificent face in response – mostly feigned pique, like the old days, though with strain around the eyes – and then left the room, leaving Rommath to relax.

There was an armchair, and a padded stool in front of the dressing table, but Rommath struck those off as too much effort. He wasn’t interested in being upright any longer today. It had been exhausting, almost traumatising, and tomorrow he would have to face the corruption of the Sunwell. However much he prided himself on his backbone, he was going to rest it tonight. And Kael serving him dinner in bed sounded like something he deserved. 

After removing his shoes, Rommath’s eyes slid closed in pleasure as he sank into the pillows. Cool silks, crisp cottons, a mattress made of clouds – he felt almost content. Whoever had been in charge of situating Kael had acquitted themselves marvellously.

Contentedness never lasted, though, and while he waited for Kael Rommath’s thoughts turned, of course, to Lor’themar Theron and how he had shamed himself utterly before him. If he hadn’t already thought Rommath a soft, useless omega, he certainly did now. Light above, he had _cried_ on the man. Cried on him and _kissed_ him, like a blushing maiden. And it had felt _good_ , damn it. Far better than it had had a right to be. Far better than anything had been before... except sex with Kael.

The exasperated groan Rommath allowed himself to indulge in coincided neatly, of course, with Kael’s return.

“Are you well?” Kael asked, nearly dropping the tray.

“As well as the world will allow,” Rommath huffed. He _would_ not think about it. There was no connection between the man who had been in his bed and the man standing before him. They both had a glorious mane of golden hair, they both had broad shoulders and breathtakingly slim waists, they both had that smooth, cultured voice... but this Kael, this Kael’s eyes were bright and concerned and _lucid_ , and that made all the difference.

“It does appear to be somewhat wrath with us, doesn’t it?” Kael agreed quietly, presenting Rommath with the gilt tray. If it weren’t for the food upon it – rustic flatbreads, smaller portions of meats and cheeses than a prince would be accustomed to, slightly limp salad hiding underneath its dressing – one could almost mistake this room and its amenities for normality.

Instead of going through another dance, Rommath angled his chin to point at the empty side of the bed, his hands already full. “Sit,” he ordered between mouthfuls. Light, but he was hungry. The fare was plain but _good_ , every bite toiled over by some poor survivor who had been tasked with feeding the prince with dwindling foodstocks. As the son of a noble house and then the ward of the king, Rommath had rarely considered the provenance of his food before, and he vowed to be more thankful. Even in Dalaran he had mostly eaten in cafes and bistros. He suspected that he would soon become much more intimately acquainted with food preparation.

After hovering awkwardly for a moment, Kael joined Rommath on the bed, stealing a piece of flatbread. “There are clean clothes for when you want them, and I’ve been assigned an attendant who is far too eager to draw me a bath when I wish it. I think she’s a bit starstruck.”

“Touching the bath she knows will soon be caressing the royal jewels? Of course she is.” Rommath snorted, and then shifted uncomfortably as he processed what he’d said. Things were so, so close to being normal again, but still painfully broken. Every word he uttered was like walking Augur Row blind and barefoot: he never knew when he would step on shards of broken glass.

Silence loomed in the room like the spectre of their friendship, and then Kael burst into _giggles_. “You’re awful,” he managed, setting the water jug he was holding down onto the nightstand to avoid spilling it down his robes.

Rommath gave Kael a sly, sideways look. “You must be careful, my prince, since your father is no longer here to prevent your maids from seducing you.”

“That was two hundred years ago!” Kael protested. “Must you be so completely dreadful?”

“I fear I must, to make up for my absence. I have clearly left you to fend for yourself for far too long.”

“You needed time,” Kael murmured, fiddling with the brocade on his robes, looking everywhere but Rommath. “You owed me nothing, _owe_ me nothing. I’m so very, truly sorry, Rom.” He paused, hesitated. “I love you.” 

So plain, so honest, Kael’s words filled Rommath’s weary heart with an artless warmth that felt like finally coming home.

“I love you too,” he said quietly, echoing the remarkable depth of friendship held in such a simple phrase. Once, a younger, starry-eyed Rommath had loved Kael as an omega loves an alpha, but this was better, he knew. This was sustainable, this was _lasting_. No more pining, no more secrets.

... And no more food, apparently, since Kael had knocked the tray askew while slinging his arms around Rommath like a sentimental drunk.

“Be careful, you oaf,” Rommath grumbled, though with little vitriol. His stomach was no longer complaining of hunger, and if he was honest with himself – a dangerous occupation, these days – it was nice to be touched again after so very long. The only thing upset was the tray; Rommath hadn’t flinched, had felt no need to escape. Perhaps the very opposite, actually – he was exhausted and strung-out after his encounter with Theron and his body was clamouring for the comforting touch of a mate that had never happened.

Kael’s response, of course, was to squeeze harder. “I’ve missed you,” he said, resting his head against Rommath’s, their ears and hair brushing together softly. His alpha scent was starting to reassert itself, mellow from happiness and relief rather than sharp from arousal. It was pleasant, Rommath realised; he had wondered how he might react, and this was perhaps what he had secretly been hoping for, a familiar warmth and affection that he could relax into after a harrowing day.

“Yes, well, your aim’s never been very good,” Rommath griped, entirely for the sake of it. Kael’s ear against his neck was reminding him of how badly he had needed Lor’themar to touch him back on the top floor of the inn, and how badly he still wanted it now. It wasn’t sexual, he just wanted to feel the warm presence of someone next to him, feel skin on skin and experience an intimate, gentle connection to another living being. Was this an omega weakness? Almost certainly. Could he afford to indulge in it here, now, with his best friend, the man who had finally earned his forgiveness?

Yes. _Yes,_ he thought, piling the spilled food back onto the tray and sliding it onto the nightstand, somehow managing not to dislodge Kael. _I deserve this. I deserve some comfort for once._ They would cuddle, they would speak of the things that needed to be spoken, they would heal. Kael had hurt him, badly, but they were both of them themselves tonight, and however much Rommath had railed against the words at the time, he knew that Kael had been horrified, continued to be horrified.

 _I wonder if the lauded Ranger Lord Lor’themar Theron could have held himself back from a heat that had been building for two hundred years?_ Rommath doubted it. He had spoken honeyed words earlier, had even managed to be mostly respectful of Rommath’s boundaries, but the two situations were not even remotely comparable. _Well, I shall never be vulnerable like that again. And nor will I have to spend a moment more with Lor’themar Theron._

“If you’re going to hug me, do it properly.”

“Are you okay with that?” Kael’s hair brushed against Rommath ear again as he shifted to look him in the eye.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Rommath huffed, trying and failing to make shimmying down the bed look dignified. His robes were rumpled and smelled of omega since he had slept in them, but cuddling was only going to make it worse and he had to save the change of clothes for when he eventually left. Kael would survive his natural scent, clearly already had while he’d been watching over Rommath upstairs.

Kael settled down with him, drawing his head onto his chest, wrapping him in his arms. “I’m lucky that it’s only your tongue that’s prickly,” he said, relaxing as Rommath allowed himself to be arranged with an absence of protest. Rommath wondered if he should have insisted on something a little less romantic, on something that didn’t put him in the inferior position, but Kael likely meant nothing by it – _he will have lain with every single one of his partners like this_ – and honestly, it was _nice_. Another weak omegan indulgence, but he could afford that around Kael now. Kael _knew_ , and he had made it more than clear that Rommath’s friendship was still valuable to him and that he wanted nothing else from him.

“I really am glad to see you, Rom,” Kael said quietly. “I’ve been so, so worried. Not just about... what happened, but...” He trailed off, searching for words.

“It’s fine.” Rommath knew what would be coming next.

“I should have been there for you, Rom. _Two hundred years_. You must have been so _lonely_.”

Rommath was glad he couldn’t see Kael’s face; the tremor in his voice was already far too much.

“There was nothing to be done,” he insisted, the gruffness of his words at odds with the way he was nestling against Kael as though they were making up for those two centuries of lost affection.

Kael shifted. “I would have... I would have helped you.”

“I know,” Rommath said quietly, generously. He hesitated, and then forged on: “I thought about telling you. Every day, I thought about telling you. But I could not risk it. Your father...”

“Yes. He would not have understood,” Kael agreed grimly. “And me, flitting about like a perfect libertine, boasting of my trifling teenage conquests. How you must have despised me!”

Rommath attempted to banish memories of Kael’s omega lovers that he had long thought expunged from his psyche. They had not encouraged him to approach Kael with his weakness, that was certainly true, but still: “I could never despise you,” he said, meaning it with every fibre of his being. “‘For better or worse we are two souls entwined, and never shall we be cleaved in twain’.”

Kael huffed in amusement. “Quoting from ‘Shan’re’s Lament’? You do recall that it’s a tragedy?”

“I thought it appropriate, since we were talking of our schoolboy days,” Rommath said. “And of course I do; ‘lament’ is not exactly subtle.”

“Our literature tutor would be so proud. What was her name again?”

“Lady Sunbright. She’d be heartbroken to hear you’d forgotten her name.”

Kael gave Rommath a light punch in the side. “No she wouldn’t, she hated me.”

Rommath answered Kael’s punch with a warning tug on his ear. “If you weren’t so comfortable to lay on I’d shove you off the bed.”

“You’d try,” Kael said, squeezing Rommath more tightly against him, then hesitating and letting go. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –” 

“Forget it,” Rommath said brusquely, shifting onto his side, propping his face up on his elbow. _Our omega rights friend has evidently had a talk about disparate strength._ “You might – _might_ – be stronger than me, but I’m no delicate flower. I’ve told you to stop fussing, so _stop fussing_. That one night was unfortunate, but you’ve paid your penance. I trust you. Treat me as any other friend – alpha, beta, omega – and if there is something I dislike I shall _tell_ you.”

“Duly noted,” Kael said solemnly, with a hint of a smile. “Truth be told, I couldn’t believe it when Lor’the – uh –” 

“I know you spoke to him,” Rommath cut in. “I’m not thrilled, but I understand.” He waved for Kael to continue. There was little to be gained from further expressing his displeasure.

“Well, I couldn’t believe it when Lor’themar told me how much stronger I likely am. You _look_ strong, Rom. You look like an _alpha_.”

Rommath huffed. “A great deal of hard work and discipline. Something genuine alphas could stand to learn more about.”

“Are you accusing me of indolence?”

“It rather sounds like you’re accusing yourself,” Rommath drawled, lips twitching. 

“And it rather sounds like _you’re_ looking for a fight.” Kael lunged for Rommath, laughing.

Rommath had been expecting it, had waited for the moment he saw Kael’s muscles bunch under his robes, but he still had the wind knocked out of him as Kael landed on him, pressing him into the mattress. Like the last time Kael had been on top of him Rommath’s blood was thundering, but unlike the last time Kael had been on top of him, Rommath was fighting, not begging. They grappled, tussled, grabbing at each other’s robes and – in one instance that made Rommath burst out laughing at Kael’s outraged expression – biting at a hand that dared pin one of Rommath’s wrists.

“You _bit_ me!” This was Kael’s third protest.

“I didn’t even use any fang, stop whining,” Rommath said, taking the opportunity to wriggle away and tackle Kael around the waist. “Alphas bite omegas all the time.” (When had he come to a point where he could joke about something like that? With Kael, at least?)

“It’s pleasurable when we do it!”

Rommath loomed over Kael, straining to pin his shoulders down. “And you’re an authority on that, Kael? Have you acquired a harem of bonded omegas during my absence?” 

“You know I haven’t,” Kael admitted, ears burning, his struggle against Rommath letting up for a moment as his ego deflated. “But play biting... omegas _swoon_ over it.” 

The honey in Kael’s voice, the return of his confidence as he spoke of swooning lovers – for a moment Rommath was taken hundreds of years back to his youth, to when he had dreamed about being part of Kael’s harem, had longed to be bitten and claimed by the only man from whom it could ever have been acceptable. He faltered, lips parted, eyes wide, and then the memory was shaken loose by Kael’s pushback, his resurgence against being pinned. 

Rommath was back in the present again, struggling against Kael’s raw alpha strength. Though it wasn’t Kael’s raw alpha strength, not really. Rommath was exhausted from sustaining his barrier and the emotional toll of hearing Theron’s news: he should not have been wrestling at all, let alone managing to somewhat hold his own. The joy of playing with his best friend once more and the catharsis of uncomplicated rough-and-tumble had distracted him from just how far he was pushing his body, but Kael would have known.

“You’ve been holding back.”

Kael’s grimace of guilt managed to be charming, as always. “Not from a lack of respect, I promise you. You’re _exhausted_ , Rom. I shouldn’t have started this in the first place, but it’s just been so – _nice_ , spending time with you again.”

Rommath huffed. “Well. Don’t hold back in the rematch. I’ll know.” Fondness leaked into his tone; he had missed Kael’s sincerity. He had missed Kael’s everything.

Rolling off Kael onto his back, head squarely on the soft pillow, Rommath let his eyes fall closed. Everything about this day had been a trial; he’d pushed himself far beyond his limits. And yet he’d _enjoyed_ some of it. He’d felt more alive than he had in years. Not when he’d been informed about the ships – grief had been a constant part of his life – and certainly not when he’d been kissing and touching Theron, but... there was definitely joy and comfort in being so close to Kael now, even though he was exhausted.

“Rom,” Kael ventured quietly from beside him. “May I ask something of you? In any other circumstance I wouldn’t, but I –”

“Ask,” Rommath said, eyes still closed.

“I need –” Kael broke off, sighed, began again. “Can you... cuddle with me? As an omega? I wouldn’t ask, but I’m... I’m so frightened, Rom.” The waver in his voice filled Rommath with an almost involuntary surge of protectiveness. “Every time I think about the days to come, everything that’s expected of me, I...”

Rommath had never known Kael to smell so lost, so distressed. “I’ll do it,” he said, saving Kael from explaining himself further. “It’s fine.” It was, perhaps, an inappropriate request, given what had happened between them, but these were extreme times. Kael had nobody else to ask. What use would asking such intimacy from a stranger be?

Loathe to admit he didn’t know exactly what such an embrace should entail – could he really trust his bodice-rippers to guide him? – Rommath began to pull his robes over his head, already much infused with his essence from sleeping and wrestling. Skin contact and scent glands would be the key, he knew, a calming feedback loop for Kael. Rommath’s natural omega instincts to soothe would still the choppy waters of Kael’s heart, which in turn would make Rommath’s pheromones even more nurturing.

‘Nurturing’ was not a quality anyone had ever ascribed to Rommath, especially himself, but he was still emotional tonight, and his prince needed him. He would do this for his friend, and perhaps even enjoy it, if he allowed himself, never to be admitted come the light of day.

“Like this?” Rommath asked gruffly, now clad only in his underwear, tight, scent-blocking shorts, arms crossed over his chest. Ideally he would be nude – his groin contained a great concentration of scent glands – but they both knew why he wasn’t, and Kael had followed suit, removing robes, leggings and socks but maintaining his modesty. Mostly. ‘Modesty’ and alpha crotches were a contradiction in terms, though Kael’s immense bulge was clearly soft through the fabric, and he smelled only of sadness.

Kael gave a self-effacing smile. “You know as much as I. No one has ever given me this gift.”

They shared a look, embarrassingly intimate, and both glanced away.

“Cuddle with me,” Kael entreated, sliding under the covers.

Gathering courage – _it is no weakness, sharing yourself like this_ – Rommath joined him, nestling beside him once again, head on his chest, arms wrapped around him. Kael’s arms wrapped around him in turn, stroking his hair, stroking the scent glands that trailed down his spine. Respectfully, he stayed away from the one at the base, the one that would make Rommath’s chest heave, the one that had broken his barrier earlier.

Kael’s touch was nothing like Theron’s; his fingers were more delicate, his strokes less confident. The difference in desire was eminently clear: an alpha seeking comfort from his omega friend; an alpha seeking to give comfort to his true mate. Cuddling into Kael, Rommath felt none of the giddy, terrifying high he had experienced with Theron earlier. That had been a tightrope walk, a swing on the trapeze, one where he had dared to let go and for which he had paid the price. 

_Theron belongs in a circus,_ Rommath thought, though he was keenly and painfully aware of his motivation for the uncharitable barb. _Do not think of him tonight. Or ever._ It was becoming a familiar refrain, and a tired one, but the events of this afternoon had proved what would come of letting his guard down.

Instead, Rommath let himself enjoy being in the moment with Kael. Their bodies were warm against each other, their breathing slow and even. Kael was inhaling Rommath’s scent, his nose pressed into Rommath’s hair; his gentle sigh turned Rommath’s muscles to putty. His prince was relaxing because of his pheromones, a gift no one else could give him – and it felt _good_. Calming, safe, an enclave beneath the blankets, an alpha and omega together, away from the world.

Kael’s chest was not so broad as Theron’s (not that Rommath would think to compare), but it was a comfort nonetheless, a pillow with a heartbeat that told a story as they lay there, Kael’s fear and sorrow melting away. His scent no longer made Rommath feel anxious; he had accepted the opportunity to fulfill a biological imperative by helping a friend and he was being flooded with feel-good hormones as a reward. This would solidify their bond as newly-reforged friends, he thought. They were vulnerable together and trusting together, no words necessary.

Would they fall asleep like this? Rommath thought they might, and also that he wouldn’t mind. There was so very much to face on the morrow, but right now they existed in a different Silvermoon, one still whole and beautiful, one in which, together, they could accomplish even the impossible. Tonight they would heal one another, skin on warm, soft skin, legs entwined.

“Rom.” Kael had stiffened, was holding his breath. “Are you...?”

Coming back to himself, Rommath slowly became aware of what had struck Kael with awe.

He was purring.

On every outward breath a soft rumble came from deep within his chest and throat, vibrating like a sleepy kitten full of cream. Shocked, Rommath attempted to breathe normally, soundlessly, but stifling it felt wrong, like he was blocking up his heart and lungs.

“I’ve never...” Kael had relaxed again now, was pressing Rommath even closer. “No one has ever cared this much about me.” His tone was reverent, his voice close to breaking.

Omegas only purred when they loved and trusted their alphas completely. Rommath had assumed it was yet more romantic nonsense, like the raving obsession over true mates, but once again he was being faced with evidence that he could not refute. He loved Kael, had always loved him, and whatever form that love was in, it burned deep within him, a flame that had never been extinguished even when he had been deluged by sorrow and hurt.

“I have always loved you,” Rommath said, his voice husky even when he wasn’t purring. “And I trust you. I will follow you wherever you go, wherever this tumult drives us. You need not be afraid.”

“Rom...” Kael whispered. “I do not deserve you.”

“You do not,” Rommath agreed. “But your deference becomes you.”

“If you weren’t purring on me...!”

Smirking, Rommath snuggled closer into Kael. “You would do nothing to me and you know it. I’m already doing you a favour.”

“One you are clearly also enjoying.”

“Hmph.” There was no denying this, and Rommath did not want to, not when it might lead to having this soothing embrace disrupted, even for a few moments.

How was it that he could admit this to himself, when there was so much else in his life that he was denying? The chemistry with Theron had been electric and devastating, a thunderstorm in his heart, but like all storms it had had him running for cover. After their encounter this afternoon his denials were lazy and brazen, unbecoming of a man of logic and reason, but that was just the thing, wasn’t it? Nothing about his reactions to and feelings for Lor’themar Theron were logical or reasonable. His body and mind betrayed him at every turn. 

But with Kael tonight... well, he was in control. As in control as one could ever be with an omega body that purred like a cat when it was content and wanted its alpha to share that contentedness, anyway. Kael was respecting every one of his boundaries, was not lusting after him, did not feel predatory in any way. Their cuddles had been entirely platonic; Kael had somehow even managed to avoid brushing him with his immense manhood.

Breathing in, purring out, steady in Kael’s arms, Rommath tried to put Lor’themar out of his mind. He did not want to be thinking about _any_ of this. That _kiss_ , though. Sultry, sparkling, erotic and yet purer than even the Sunwell... he shivered, shifted against Kael’s side.

 _No_ , he told himself. _No_. Chemistry was not the same as love, which was not the same as safety. However divine his kiss with Lor’themar had been, it did not mean anything for his future. Thinking of it, of _him_ , was dangerous, could ruin him.

But that didn’t mean he had to forego kisses entirely. Not tonight, not if Kael was amenable. They could press their lips together softly, could slide their tongues over each other as Rommath purred into Kael’s mouth. It didn’t have to mean anything – they could just find comfort in one another, like they had already while cuddling. 

For the first time in his life, he was enjoying being an omega, enjoying his power to give comfort and take pleasure. He could not let that go.

Lifting his head from Kael’s chest, taking in Kael’s regal face, smoothed of all its worry lines by Rommath’s touch, Rommath’s pheromones, Rommath considered for a moment whether this was what he truly wanted. It was not love, but that was okay – in fact, it was desirable. No strings, no bonds, no expectations. No fear.

Meeting Kael’s eyes, which had opened to investigate Rommath’s shifting of positions, Rommath craned his neck and pressed the lightest of kisses to Kael’s lips. There was no spark as there had been with Lor’themar, but it was still warm and pleasant, and Kael was looking at him with eyes that had darkened with desire. 

“Rom...” Kael began, searching his face for motives, for any signs that his heat had not properly broken. “I would not have you do anything you do not want. This was not some scheme to take advantage of you.”

“I do nothing I do not want,” Rommath said, and kissed Kael again, tongue immediately seeking his, not at all shy like he had been with Lor’themar. Now that he had acquired a taste for it he would have it, and have Kael too, an alpha who, he thought, would allow him anything and ask for nothing.

Once Kael realised Rommath was serious, he returned the kiss with a fervour that spoke of his need to forget, his need to be treated as a man and not as a prince. With his arms still wrapped around Rommath, he rolled so they were now side by side, Rommath no longer having to stretch to reach him. 

Although Kael was not Rommath’s true mate and he no longer loved him besides, the ease with which Kael manoeuvered him lit a fire in his belly; Kael was still an attractive alpha, and right now, while he was allowing himself to be an omega, Rommath forgave himself for enjoying Kael’s strength and gentle dominance. Come morning, all of this would have melted away, leaving only two alphas now prepared to face the horrors of the world.

Kael groaned as Rommath purred into his mouth. From the tension in his hips he was clearly holding himself back from pressing their bodies together, from rubbing and touching. 

Rommath was not nearly so shy.

Kael’s skin was warm under his fingers, and getting warmer the longer they kissed. Sliding a hand between them, Rommath explored Kael’s chest, teasing his small nipples and playing with the wispy trail of hair between his pectorals. He remembered very little of their previous night together; he would enjoy mapping Kael’s body, enjoy wrecking him with every foray of his fingers.

Rommath’s purr slid into a moan as Kael began to fondle one of his ears, stroking it from base to tip, caressing it first lovingly and then suggestively, tugging at it and rubbing the tip in slow circles. Heart hammering, Rommath relished the excitement he felt as Kael’s fingers worked their magic, his cock hardening and his ass beginning to ache inside. It had felt good with Lor’themar earlier – the passion, the _promise_ , the hand that had rubbed. His body demanded what he had tempted it with, and perhaps, this time, he would not deny it.

Hands roaming lower, Rommath took what he wanted. Kael’s clothed cock was huge and hot under his palm, a testament to Rommath’s power. He had deigned to cuddle with him, to provide comfort, and had even demonstrated his own pleasure and approval of Kael by purring. Kael clearly yearned for omega esteem, was responding to it in the most primal way possible. In this room, in this bed, Rommath owned him. 

As Rommath slipped his hand into Kael’s underwear, Kael gasped and broke the kiss. “Rom, if we are to go further, you should know – my feelings – this would just be –” 

Rommath squeezed Kael’s cock, revelling in how his velvety foreskin yielded while the rock hard core resisted. Yes, this would feel good inside him in a way not even his most expertly-crafted toys could. “I do not want love from you, Kael.” _Not anymore._ “Just a good, hard fuck.”

The words were shocking in how little they shocked him to have said. They were crude, but what he wanted was crude. Or, at least, what he could _get_ was crude. There was no romance, Kael was not his true mate – or even any kind of mate – so what shame was there in baldly stating facts? Rommath was inexperienced, but he was also over two hundred years old. He was no blushing maiden.

(Not with Kael, anyway. He was not swooning with Kael, not trembling with Kael.)

Kael scrutinised his face again, evidently torn between desire and concern. “Are you –”

Impatient, aggravated, Rommath ground their cocks together with eye-watering force. “Yes, I’m certain. No, I am not in heat. My choices are my own, and I have chosen this.”

His mention of heat made him pause, though. It had broken in the least dignified way possible earlier, the devastating cocktail of unpleasant hormones making him susceptible to Lor’themar’s charms. Sleep had flushed much of it away, but of the heat itself, what remained? Could he get pregnant in this ill-defined window?

Disentangling himself from Kael, Rommath leaned over the bed to retrieve his abandoned robes, attempting not to jump as Kael’s warm hands slid around his waist to steady him. “Prudence,” he said gruffly by way of explanation, fishing out one of the contraceptive potions he had been carrying for those omegas unlucky enough to need them after the city’s fall. Kael wisely did not comment as Rommath gulped it down.

As Rommath dropped his robes again, Kael dimmed the magelights, turning the bed into a softly-lit island amongst the shadows. He drew Rommath to him, pressing his broad chest against Rommath’s back. His hands, already on Rommath’s waist, dipped below the band of his shorts to fondle his cock, while his lips plied his neck with kisses.

Rommath threw his head back, groaning, sighing. No one had ever touched his cock before, and he wasn’t prepared for the excitement, the intensity. Nor was he prepared for the simple thrill of having someone’s warm hand down his underwear; surely that was juvenile, pitiful for a man his age? But he would not allow petty insecurities to rule him. If Kael was doing it, he clearly meant for Rommath to enjoy it. And between Kael’s kisses migrating to the scent glands in the hollows of his collarbones and Kael’s fingers smearing pre-come all over the head of his cock, Rommath certainly _was_ enjoying it.

“You smell _delicious_ ,” Kael rumbled, rubbing his nose into Rommath’s scent gland and inhaling deeply. “So hot, so sweet.”

They were just words, honeyed morsels that Kael likely fed to each and every one of his partners, but Rommath’s cheeks and ears flushed regardless. Being praised for his body for the first time in his life made him hungry for more, hungry for whatever Kael could give him.

_Tell me I am desirable. Tell me I am not an aberration, a wretch to be pitied._

Rommath wondered if he should say something back, if he should twist in Kael’s grasp in order to reciprocate his touch, but Kael’s hands and lips were everywhere, keeping his back pressed tightly to his chest. Now that he had been given explicit permission, Kael was clearly determined to make Rommath enjoy himself, likely as an unspoken way of making up for that one, terrible night.

Rommath hoped that it would remain unspoken. He wanted no apologies, no emotions. They were done with those now; only carnal delights remained until morning dawned and they became themselves again. He wanted no trace – no taint – of the weakness he had displayed earlier with Lor’themar, of how he had yearned for a bond that would shackle him.

Still stroking Rommath’s cock, Kael’s other hand slipped between them and down the back of Rommath’s shorts, cupping and squeezing his ass before sliding between his cheeks to rub at his asshole. Slick and needy, Rommath pushed back against Kael’s fingers, conflict burning in his loins. His cock wanted to thrust into somewhere warm and wet, somewhere better than Kael’s hand, but the omega side of him was whispering to him to fall to his hands and knees and present himself like the slut he’d always wanted to be.

“What would you like?” Kael murmured, easing Rommath’s shorts down. “I am yours to command.”

“I want your mouth on my cock,” Rommath said decisively. “And then I will ride you.”

Rommath could _feel_ Kael’s smirk against his skin. “It has been an age since I last sucked a cock – I shall enjoy this.”

Of course – Kael had brought back beta males a time or two in their youth, but had soon developed a hard preference for omegas, soft, sweet-smelling, and easily able to take his alpha cock. Rommath was not soft, but Kael clearly found him pleasing regardless: his scent was lusty, yearning, like a roaring fire. Rommath could feel him crackle as he finally detached himself from him and slid his own underwear off before wrapping his arms around Rommath’s waist once more.

“How do you want me?”

Rommath considered. “On your knees.”

Kael kissed down Rommath’s neck, flickered his tongue over his scent gland, kissed his way back up to his ear to whisper, “Then make yourself comfortable, _dalah’arifal_ , and I shall serve you.”

 _Dalah’arifal;_ cherished lover. Rommath was certain that Kael could feel his ear heating against his lips. The term of endearment was old-fashioned, had been carefully chosen. _Dalah’surfal_ – beloved – was inappropriate, while any of Kael’s usual pet names would have made Rommath feel cheap. Likely he had drawn inspiration from their conversation earlier: Anandor had addressed Shan’re as such in ‘ _Shan’re’s Lament’_. Would that this night not end in similar tragedy.

Kael unwound himself from Rommath and slid to the floor, one of the plush cushions beneath his knees. The way he looked up at Rommath as he sat on the side of the bed and spread his legs truly made him feel like a character from the ancient classics – like his was a beauty and splendour that eclipsed even the rays of the sun. Rommath was not beautiful or splendid, but if Kael was trying to make him believe it then he would not break the spell, would play along for tonight. Did he not deserve to, after all this time, and for the first time in his life?

As Kael pressed kisses to Rommath’s thighs, a siren’s whisper from the darkest recesses of Rommath’s mind reminded him that this was not, in fact, the first time that he had been revered. In the inn room upstairs Lor’themar had called him beautiful, had promised him his life, his service. The words had been heartfelt, and Lor’themar might even have believed them, but the siren’s whisper was exactly that: deadly if followed.

On the waves of his thoughts, however, it was already too late. Rommath had not blocked up his ears, and as Kael touched him, as Kael licked and teased and stroked, Kael’s golden hair transformed in the soft magelight and the shadows to become the striking shade of cornsilk that had brushed against him on the divan like a touch of salvation. When Kael took him into his mouth he wondered if his true mate would find pleasure in his gasp, in the way his thighs tensed and his hands settled into that silken hair as though he would be left adrift without its anchor.

When fine, clever fingers slipped inside him, Rommath imagined he could feel the calluses on their tips as they stroked him in the spot that made him jerk and thrust. When Rommath cried out as those fingers began to gently move, he imagined his true mate’s scent, musky and woodsy, intensifying as they delighted in his parted lips and thrown back head.

When Rommath called out his lover’s name as he came, he called a different one in his mind, three syllables that felt perfect on his lips, his mouth, his tongue.

Is that what he had done? He was too drained to move, too drained to think, exhausted after the day’s maelstrom, but Kael wasn’t pressing him for gossip so Rommath decided that he had only internally betrayed himself. The wrong name ( _right name_ ) had not spilled from his lips.

“Rom?” Kael said gently. “Are you okay?” 

Rommath thought this might not be the first time he had tried for his attention.

“I’m fine,” he said, struggling to open his eyes. Climaxing had robbed him of every last dreg of energy, and he had already been running on empty.

“You’re exhausted.” Kael stood between Rommath’s legs and hugged him to him, stroking his hair. “Let us get you to bed.”

_And then I will ride you._

“No,” Rommath rasped. “I want your knot.” When would he have another opportunity? Perhaps never. He did not intend for another night like this to happen again despite having opened himself to Theron in his fantasy just now. It would remain exactly that: a fantasy, and an uneasy one besides.

“You need not push yourself for my sake if that is your motivation.” Kael crouched down, tilted Rommath’s chin up to scrutinise his face.

Rommath huffed a laugh. “I would always choose sleep over alleviating your blue balls, _dalah’arifal_.”

Kael laughed with him, bright and lovely. “I can always trust in you to safeguard my well-being.” He pressed a gentle kiss to Rommath’s mouth, his lips petal-soft and smelling of Rommath’s orgasm. “If I cannot dissuade you, tell me how you would have me. I fear your initial desire will require over-much from you.”

Kael was not wrong. As much as Rommath wanted to straddle him and take his pleasure from a position of power, he just didn’t have the energy. He only remained upright because of Kael. Part of him longed for more kisses, but a greater part did not want to recreate a night he would rather not remember, on his back and gazing up at Kael in love and horror.

(The siren’s song whispered from the ocean that the intimacy of another alpha’s knot would betray his true mate, but Rommath stood fast on the shore and swore that he heard nothing but wind and gulls.)

“On my front or side,” Rommath said. “Whichever will be the quicker.”

“The romance is strong tonight.” Kael stood, kissed the top of Rommath’s head. “Lie on your stomach, then. Spooning is too slow and tender for me to knot quickly.”

A brief tremor passed through Rommath as the thought of being made love to like that by his true mate came to him unbidden. To be held in his arms, to have his hands roam his body while they rocked together for hours, pleasure unending. Would an alpha do that for him, delay their climax to give him as many as he could handle before he begged for an end? Theron had promised him anything, but words were cheap and Rommath was not.

Clambering across the bed on hands and knees, Rommath’s head swam. The pillow was blessedly cool on his cheek as he lay down, and for a moment he considered taking Kael’s offer and just going to sleep. To miss perhaps his last ever opportunity for sex, though... he would wake on the morrow full of regret, and he did not seek that a second time.

Kael’s body was heavy and warm as he lowered himself onto Rommath’s back, moulding himself to him and kissing his ear with little moist sounds that reminded Rommath just how badly he ached inside. His hips moved of their own accord, his ass rubbing up against Kael, smearing his cock with slick. Rommath’s own cock was limp after his orgasm and was unlikely to reawaken tonight, but his pleasure now lay elsewhere, a pleasure greater than Kael’s mouth could provide. Was there shame in admitting that? If there was, he had decided already that he would not feel it this night.

“It pains me to rush,” Kael murmured, “but it’s still what you want, isn’t it?”

“I won’t think any less of your prowess as a lover,” Rommath said. “So yes. Hard and fast so I don’t fall asleep.”

Kael huffed by his ear. “I’ll have you know that no lover of mine has ever fallen asleep during my expert ministrations.”

“Then stop talking and start fucking.”

Kael did as he was bid. He pressed his cock into Rommath slowly but relentlessly, humming with pleasure at Rommath’s needy groan. When Kael began to move in earnest, Rommath clutched the pillow and moaned into it, overwhelmed by the feeling of a real cock inside him, of being so close to another living being. He’d pretended for so long that he didn’t want this, that he could live without it, but the affection he’d received today... for a brief, wonderful moment with Lor’themar he had felt like the universe was his, and tonight, with Kael, he had felt cherished. Every moment of skin contact was something to be tattooed upon him so he would never be without it again.

The pillow became wet with Rommath’s saliva as he moaned on Kael’s every thrust. The pace was fierce, uncompromising, and whatever shreds of intellect he had had remaining were long gone, fucked away. All that remained was the pleasure and the world behind his eyes, full of whatever he chose to fantasise about.

_Please know that I would aid you in any way you wish._

A body criss-crossed with scars above him, powerfully-built.

_May I touch you?_

A chocolate-honey voice that slid to his stomach like syrup.

_‘Nothing’ could never be so beautiful._

A single dark brown eye filled with compassion and tenderness, professing to see beauty where others would see only a freak.

_I will wait for you, for as long as it takes. Whatever you would have of me, I will gladly give it. Whenever you need me, I will be there._

An alpha he had thought to be delusional at best, _wanting_ him. Wanting him so badly he would beg and make a fool of himself. Wanting him so badly he would publicly acknowledge a male omega as his true mate.

Silently he begged for it, mouthing prayers into the pillow as he felt the knot inside him begin to swell. They would come together when it finally locked in place, and oh, what bliss that would be, to share such a moment with someone who loved him for exactly who and what he was. _Love,_ something he had long believed out of reach. If only for this moment, it was his to hold.

Three syllables filled his lungs. He breathed them into his pillow as he climaxed, shaking and contracting around his mate’s blessed knot. He breathed them quietly as air as he was gently rolled onto his side, his lover still inside him. He breathed them as dreams as he slept, warm and safe and loved, for the very first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _So_ many thanks to Shira for her unrelenting passion and patience, and to Pike for always being a darling.  <3
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to dnitegirl, whose incredible Rommath/Kael fic [Distraction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3644622) has had me sobbing on and off ever since I first read it, and has long been the inspiration for this chapter.
> 
> Thank you all for being so patient for this update! I've been tired and sick and had to take a break from fandom for a while, but I'm always thinking about this fic and developing ideas! When I've felt bad I've read through all the comments you amazing people have left, and honestly I've shed a tear or two knowing that even though I'm sick I've been able to do something worthwhile and touch people. So thank you _so much_ for all your support, it means more than you might know. I haven't addressed the comments from the last chapter yet, but I'll be addressing them soon, once I've recovered from writing this absurdly long chapter.  <333


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